Knight
by BadLiterature
Summary: In a world torn by war, he's a hero that comes to save the Prince locked away in his tower guarded by an evil, fire-breathing dragon. He's not what the Prince expected, he's not what the Prince dreamed of, but he was perfect. Cardverse USUK Gender-bender for a while
1. 1 Chosen

Disclaimer: Hetalia and all its particulars belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. Also, this features USUK. This means that I've romantically paired the male characters of America and England (Britain) together. Please be mindful of the rating on this piece. It may not be present in the current chapter, but there will be some sexual content, so be wary of that. With that out of the way, let's begin the story!

* * *

**Knight**

**1**

_Once upon a time, in a fabled land told only in tales, the King, Roman Empire, and Queen, Ancient Greece, ruled the card kingdom together in peace. But that cherished era could not last as wars and disagreements ripped them apart and eventually led to the demise of the once great empire. Ultimately, the King and Queen vanished, never to return._

_Centuries passed and their children separated, fighting for sovereignty over the kingdom. The blood of renounced brothers spilled on the grounds of their mother and in the seas of their father. Children were raised by resentment into hostile and distrusting adults, who feared to give and took all they could when they were given the opportunity. Soon, the most powerful of these brothers claimed parts of the land for themselves and painted their territory with colorful flags. The suits were born and the people divided four ways, turning parting the deck into principle._

_Bitterness was to fade with time and successions of the throne, forced smiles and civil alliances joining kingdoms together with weak bonds that might as well have been forged with water and string. But even together, the Clubs, Hearts, Spades, and Diamonds were separated by suspicion, conspiracy, and cowardice. Each covered their convolution with the principles of love, happiness, and law, hiding behind masks to deceive their people. But behind the curtains, each kingdom schemed to overthrow another, and take that kingdom's power for their own._

_Tired of the endless plot and plundering, the Spades Kingdom finally took matters into their own hands. On a stormy night, Saxony, the Queen of Spades, blew the dust from her volume of the Basic Laws of Alchemy and summoned the Jokers to plead for a solution. Adhering to their verdict, the Spades bargained with the Jokers, promising money, love, happiness, for the coveted jewel, hegemony. But the Jokers, thirsty for excitement and mischief, told the other countries in confidence of the trade and each country, overcome with ferocity and resentment, silently waged war against the Spades Kingdom._

_Before Spades could even fathom attacks from the other kingdoms, Saxony gave birth to the heir of the Spades' throne, an emerald-eyed boy they named England. Overhearing a plot by Diamonds to kill their prince and sole heir, the Spades quickly covered his gender and fashioned him as a princess, bringing him up with the utmost daintiness and being careful to not reveal his gender to him. It didn't hurt that the "princess" had a rather effeminate disposition to begin with and took a liking to gardening and small animals. He made quite the convincing girl and the other kingdoms, scratching their heads and swearing they thought the child was male, left the prince of Spades alone._

_The same could not be said for the King of Spades, whom Diamonds killed after the King and Queen of Clubs promised their daughter and her adopted brother, the Ace, to Diamonds for their alliance in the war against the Spades._

_In her fear and grief, Saxony was driven to paranoia. Insisting on the safety of her child from attempts from the other countries to kill, kidnap, or rape him, she had him locked away in a tower by his fourteenth birthday. She then conjured a dragon to guard her precious child, who was instructed to wait until a brave knight of the Spades came to save him, marry him and make him a Queen, bringing peace to the world of Cards._

_England passed his time writing tales of romance and adventure, ignorant to the world of war around him, the death of his mother, and the ascent of the silently deadly Ace, who aimed to rule world in the name of his fallen mother, to the throne of the Spades. He read and he learned and he dreamed, watching the days pass by, waiting patiently for his true love to come rescue him and bring the world to justice just like in the fairytale books he'd read as a child._

* * *

"Aw, come on, America, it'll only be a couple hours! You train all day, every day. Take a break, why don't ya?"

A silver streak flew through the air. The sword clashed harshly with the wood a final time until the top of the log slid gracefully off of its body and met the perfectly manicured grass with a loud thud. The swordsman twirled a blade that would normally have to be held with two hands between his fingers effortlessly, replacing it skillfully in its sheath. He then removed his fencing mask, turning to look at the source of the voice with his glittering cobalt eyes. A compromising smile stretched across his face and his friend rocked back on his heels, anticipating the words to come from America's mouth with a frown.

"Hey, I take breaks! Weekends, holidays, meals, bedtime," America protested, but Australia wasn't having it.

"I mean a _real _break," the syllables stretched as Australia stressed his point. "You're already the best swordsman in Spades Kingdom and you had the favor of the queen. I know you want to be the one chosen to fetch England more than anything," America flushed at the mention, "But you had that in the bag years ago! Have some fun why don't you?"

America grinned, removing all of his armor and turning into the castle to put it in his locker. "Alright, but I'm not about to smell bad before that dumb party we have tonight, so no football today. We can try the summertime sledding thing," He called to Australia, who'd gone into the neighboring equipment room.

Australia frowned, picking the sled from its hanger on the wall. "Ugh, I hate balls. I thought for sure when Egypt took the throne, he'd have outlawed any type of celebration."

"True that!" America laughed. The two walked sled in hand through the ivory castle to the courtyard, home of a rather monumental hill. "What a hard ass."

"Swearing, America? How unbecoming of a knight." The duo whipped their heads around at the same time, knocking together and soliciting a joint cry of surprise. The ebony-haired man sighed, placed his hands in the sleeves of his long blue and golden-flecked robe, and shook his head in scorn as the two brunettes rubbed their heads, giggling.

"Oh cool it, Hong Kong," The knight-in-training laughed, running his fingers through his soft honey-brown hair one last time. "We're just having fun!" Australia grinned in agreement, ushering his friend out the door and into the courtyard. The two ran, laughing in their excitement.

"I swear, you're both overgrown children." Hong Kong sighed, and at that moment he was roughly shoved aside by a small, cloth-covered ball of energy.

"Wait for me, aru!" China tumbled out the door, calling and waving to the energetic pair.

"Not you too, teacher!" Hong Kong called after him, but his calm voice was beaten mercilessly by the breeze.

China had been the Jack of Spades for as long as he could remember, even during the time of Saxony and Anglia. But his age did not limit his boundless energy or his character, and it was believed that he would be a kid for the rest of his life. However long that would be.

Long raven-hair whipped behind him eagerly as he bounced away from the ivy-coated walls of the castle. America and Australia cheered as he climbed the hill that the duo stood atop, and when he finally reached their feet he had to stop and catch his breath. The three boys then turned to look upon the beautiful cloudless sky beyond the spindly gates of the Spades kingdom, each golden door marked with a large navy spade and the tips adorned with blue and black flags.

"One day, I'm going out there, " America declared with a breath, pointing beyond the gate.

China and Australia turned to him in dubious surprise. Then they grinned widely and attacked each of his arms, wrestling the unsuspecting brunette to the weed patch underneath him. Laughing loudly, he easily overtook China, pinning him to the ground with his left arm. But where America had strength China had wit, and kicked at his weak spots in high spirits. He then tried to flip Australia over, but the thick-browed man managed to wriggle free of America's superhuman half Nelson and tackled him from behind. They fell to the ground, rolling in laughter.

America then propped himself up on his elbows, engaging the sky in a deep, hopeful, glistening stare. Sensing the mood, China sat up, crossed his legs, and leaned his back on America's shoulder. Australia rolled over next to him, stomach to the sky, hard-knock and careless as he should be.

"Why is it such a big deal that you get to be the one to rescue England again?" Australia wondered aloud, knocking America's knee and breaking the peaceful silence that blew in the wind around them.

"Well," America said, turning to Australia, his eyes sparkling at the mention, " I am her only childhood friend. We can't have some weirdo she doesn't even know running off with her and marrying her and doing who knows what! Besides, don't you guys know?" America grinned with pride, "I'm definitely gonna be the hero to this story!"

Australia and China burst into fits of laughter, making America's face fall into an angry pout. His face fell onto his arms, his chin dusting the grass underneath. He pursed his lips, wondering why his friends didn't believe he could be England's hero. On his account, he was the hardest-working, most talented knight in the Spades Kingdom. He was prepared to be like the brave heroes of legend, strong, bright, and handsome. He would jump walls, climb trees; cut thorny underbrush. He would give anything to join the ranks of the most revered people in the Spades Kingdom.

It wasn't just for the fame or the gold or the women. America wanted to be someone of consequence, someone worthwhile. He'd always felt like a waste of time and space. Without parents, he was forced to live alone as a baby, brought up by the wilderness. He never had anything to live for until he met England.

England, who'd rode up on a sparkling white horse one day and asked him all sorts of questions before finally stepping off and shaking his little hand. England, who came to visit every day after. England, who dashed to America's side when he'd been injured and death was certain and carried him back to the castle, vowing to never let him live alone again. She put clothes on his back, food in his stomach, and taught him to read and write. America couldn't allow that debt to go unpaid.

He was England's knight in shining armor, or at least that was what he had pictured. Who could be more competent, more motivated, more equipped to rescue a damsel in distress than he? He didn't understand their skepticism.

"Oh, America, don't pout," Australia crowed.

"Sulking doesn't get you anywhere!" China added emphatically.

"I'm sure England would be more than happy to see you if you busted into her tower right now and carried her out in your arms," Australia encouraged lightly, "But it's harder than it sounds, you know. We aren't fairytale supermen, mate."

"Well…" China rolled his head to the side thoughtfully. "Mei Guo _is_ freakishly strong."

America winced, and Australia glanced at China tersely. China shrugged, unsure of what he'd done wrong. Australia sighed and patted America on the back, chuckling.

"Well!" America burst, "Since I'm strong, I have no worries!"

"No worries?" Australia asked, puzzled.

"Yeah!" America near-shouted at the confused men before him. "Not only is my strength gonna help me rescue England, but it's gonna beat you losers to the bottom of this hill!"

America then jumped on the sled and, to the astonishment of the other two, kicked away from the hill with his heel and flew through the air. He crashed into the grassy base of the hill, sliding to a slick stop.

"Think you can take on _that?_" He challenged from the bottom of the hill.

China stuck out his tongue and Australia huffed condescendingly. A sly smile spread across America's face. It looked like he had his answer.

Positioned at the top of the hill, the three boys stuck their launching feet in the ground. China grappled the handle of the wok he sat in, shuffling his weight around for balance. America scooted up slightly on the sled, gripping the steel firmly. Australia finally settled in his 'vehicle' of choice and knelt on the shield face down, holding the handle with both of his hands. The two to his sides nodded at America, who nodded swiftly back.

"Alright, on three," America announced, "One!"

The boys crouched in position.

"Two!"

Nerves caused them to dip a little lower.

"Three!"

Each of them shot off, gliding through the grass and weaving around each other.

China, who'd been behind in the beginning, was quickly advancing on first place, America. He nudged him with his wok, shoving America a little to the right. During this altercation Australia saw his opportunity. He slid into first place and the other two, looking up from shoving each other, watched him speed ahead in shock. They immediately teamed up; America shoved China's wok forward and grabbed onto the back as it bolted across the grass.

"Cheating, cheating, I call foul!" Australia called as the duo weaved around him and approached the end of the hill.

The others stuck their tongues out at him and laughed mockingly. You can't call rule infringement in a no-rules race. The discussion ended before it began.

America and China disbanded and leaned forward to gain speed. It was now a cutthroat race to the finish! The adrenaline was running high, and the two crossed the base of the hill. Australia skid to the bottom unmistakably in last, looking between the other two in bewilderment. It was so close, he sincerely couldn't tell who'd won.

That was, until China threw his wok to the ground in disappointment and America jumped and shouted victoriously into the air. He began to dance jubilantly, not forgetting to tell China that he had to do the remainder of his chores on his task list for the rest of the week. It was only three days of extra work, but China hated losing and pouted anyhow.

"Boys! Stop fooling around! Not only haven't you had your supper, you haven't been anywhere near a bar of soap and the ball is in two hours," a voice sounded from behind the hill. The trio's attention snapped to the top of the grassy monument, on top of which stepped a woman in a navy Ao Dai, her long black hair pulled into a strict ponytail.

"Vietnam," all three responded, and clambered to stand attention to the one powerful woman in the entirety of the Spades Kingdom. She was serious and serene and somewhat intimidating, full of hidden strength and emotion behind her detached façade. The boys didn't want to be responsible for letting that emotion loose and tried their hardest to be on her good side.

"We were just playing, ma'am, but we were about to head up and get ready right now, right guys?" Australia prompted his friends with a nervous smile, receiving swift yeses, totallys, and rights from either side. Vietnam huffed skeptically, but let the boys slide, following them as they scuttled across the green into the castle, the sleepy sun tinting the castle bricks orange as it set in the west.

* * *

Water splashed against creamy tan skin. Silky brown hair was brushed back, and a certain stubborn strand was wrestled with until finally its contender gave up and left it alone. A detailed navy blue and gold trimmed vest was pulled over a white button-up, which lay loosely on its wearer's body. Dark pants were laced up with gold string, and black boots with golden vines climbing to the cuff were pulled onto muscular calves. A confident pink smirk unraveled and twinkling blue eyes met in the mirror. He was ready.

America looked around as he shut the big wooden door of his room behind him. The knight's quarters were conspicuously empty, and he was a bit afraid that he'd show up late. Knights were always at the front of the procession, beside the King and Queen.

Well, that was how they'd been taught, at least.

He darted down the glistening stone stairs, boots clicking as he flew through the hall towards the thick navy double doors of the dorm entrance. The door staggered open and America's shaggy brown head popped out, moving side to side in search of his mates. The large circular passage proved fruitless. America sighed and walked into the room, shutting the large door behind him. His body was painted with soft oranges, purples, and pinks that filtered through the surrounding gold encased windows. He trekked over the Spade-adorned carpets and pushed open another navy door. America slid into the castle, drizzled with tapestries and candles, the chandeliers lit. The ivory glowed all around him as he marched through the foyer and into a small dark opening in which the Ace's procession waited to enter the ballroom and banquet hall. Luck seemed to be on his side, as sighs of relief escaped all around him and Vietnam, armed with a candle, ushered him beside the other knights.

"Jesus, America, what were you doing, putting on your makeup?" Australia mumbled jokingly to the knight beside him. America nudged him half-heartedly. Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. America swiveled his head around to see the reassuring smiles of Macao and the other Spades knights-in-training. He gave a grateful, understanding smile in return. They were all in this together, brothers in a sense of the word, waiting to someday become part of the deck.

And they heard that day could be today.

The large black doors suddenly opened to greet the gentlemen. Candles and crystal and gold dripped light all around the dark blue floor. Golden spade tapestries and shimmering black and navy ribbon hung from the mosaic-covered ceiling. The ivory covered corners and curves of the walls shone brightly with light. A large, spade-laced carpet rolled out to meet the elevated hovel that hosted the diamond-studded empty chairs of the King and Queen of Spades. America breathed in deeply. This was the scent of the ballroom.

The Cards of the Deck stood attentively on either side of the carpet, holding wine, swaying back and forth with hors d'ouvres. The King and Queens of the other Kingdoms were privately attended to in the gold and ivory balconies that cut into the room's high walls. They were actually residing there pleasantly: the Diamonds being poured stylish wine, the Hearts talking politely with each other while holding hands, and the Clubs knitting and discussing something with another group of prestigious cards. America cut his eyes suspiciously at the latter balcony, suspicious of the Clubs' true motive for coming to the Spades Kingdom. The two kingdoms had never exactly been friends, and though the declaration of war from Clubs against Spades was called off, America wasn't willing to let his guard down. Hostility emanated from the knight as his eyes scanned the Diamonds' balcony. His eyes darted away and set straight forward, keeping themselves away. His teeth grit as he thought of the passivity in which Egypt, their sovereign, had signed the treaty with Diamonds, forgiving them for slaying the King of Spades. He, on the other hand, was not so forgiving. If he ever got his hands on France… he didn't know if he would be able to control himself. Granted, it wasn't he who killed Spades' beloved king, but America was not one to let a debt go unpaid.

And Diamonds owed Spades a King.

Erasing the grimace from his face, America led the Knights into the room, marching uniformly, two large flags with black spades stitched into the navy fabric grasped tightly in two fists. The Knights knelt on either side of the carpet, making way for the Spades Kingdom's Cards of the Deck. Macao, the two, strolled in first, followed expressly by a crooked-grinned Romania with a gold number three pinned into his suit. Vietnam gracefully came after, her arms folded in her robe and her number four brooch glittering by the candlelight. Mongolia, the five, followed her. Turkey, the six, ambled behind him, walking and smoking a cigar obnoxiously. The seven, Hong Kong followed in a manner similar to Vietnam, and moved to stand next to her by the alter. Next came a rather ambiguously dressed blonde with a gold eight tacked to his chest. Poland waved girlishly at the Clubs procession, and some of the Spades and Clubs more immature parties giggled. It was clear who that embarrassing target was, and Lithuania smacked his fingers against his forehead. At nine, South Korea rounded out the procession practically jumping to the end of the carpet. The Jack, China, emulated this energy and enthusiasm, as he carried the scepter to the steps of the stage and knelt respectfully as the Ace finally stepped into the room.

Egypt's long blue robe shuffled behind him as he marched to the stage, a blue, black, and gold-licked crown sitting comfortably on his head. The entirety of the room bowed as he ascended the steps of the alter, and somehow, as Egypt sat silently on the King's throne, a surge of irritation and jealousy coursed through America's veins. It was momentary, but strong enough and strange enough to trouble the young knight-in-training, who gripped his other arm tightly. Australia noticed America's vexed demeanor and tapped his elbow slightly to America's in reassurance. The other knight lent an apologetic smile. Egypt cleared his throat and all the Deck stood in silence.

"Welcome and thank you all for joining the Spades Kingdom in this glorious day. Today we address a very important issue and a very important opportunity. You may have noticed that not one, but two Cards are missing from our deck as I hopefully make the shift to King and wed the Queen: the Ace and the Ten of Spades. Today, these brave knights have the honor of getting a chance to move up and become part of the deck, as either Ten or Ace of Spades, in our potentially prosperous kingdom. Today, I will task two of these knights with a Quest that will determine whether or not they live and claim their place in the Deck, or lose all hope of becoming part of the Spades procession. Rescuing our princess will not be an easy task. It will take the most noble, faithful, and heroic knight to prevail. But I have faith in the knights I will pick, and they, along with the Jack, will undeniably return successfully with my future wife."

'Rescuing our princess!? Future wife…' America's nerves started to jump and rocket around in his body. His fingertips tingled with electricity. Could he possibly be assigning the quest he'd been waiting for? But he wasn't even a knight yet! It couldn't be happening, not yet, not now! Not England!

"I have diligently chosen. One at the top of his class in knight training who has the authority and expertise to give orders to his higher officers," America's eyes widened in fear. "Brought from near-death in the woods by my bride-to-be, and raised by the Spades, this young man has proved to be potentially just as great a Spade as our late King, Anglia. I choose America."

The crowd broke into wild applause as Australia nudged the brunette out of his stupor. Struck with disbelief and ecstasy, America floated to the alter and bowed quickly, his breath knocked out of him as he registered those three golden words.

'England…' He hummed in his head. 'Welcome home.'

It seemed like a dream. He couldn't hear a word of what Egypt said next, just more applause pealing from the crowd as another figure came and stood beside him, thudding him heartily on the back and pulling him by the shoulders into a tight hug.

"It's us, America! It's us! We're finally doing it, mate! We're finally doing it!"

* * *

**End Chapter 1.**

* * *

_A/N: Hello guys. I am very excited about this story. Hopefully I did well setting it up._

_Please R&R! ~Sam_


	2. 2 Beginning

**Knight**

**2**

Ashy smoke blew into the boys' faces. Tanned, callused hands waved it away and covered coughs, the two squinting at the masked man in front of them. Turkey tapped his cigar, bits of smoldering paper falling to the stony ground below.

"Boys," Turkey gave a slanted smile. "It's been a pleasure."

America grinned back. "Likewise." In a way, he enjoyed Turkey's obnoxious, sarcastic nature.

"Oh, yo, and when you meet England," called out as the two pushed open the large wooden doors and met the glittering midnight snow, "smack her on the ass for me!"

"Right! Ow!" Australia rubbed his arm where America hit him, watching as the younger stalked off. "What's got him in a tizzy?" he mumbled to himself, leaving blemishing footprints in the once perfect snow.

It seemed like just yesterday Egypt had tasked them with saving the lost Princess of Spades. Months ago, not a soul in or out of the Kingdom had a clue where she could have been, which ended up being the reason Spades had invited the other kingdoms to partake in their festivities. One minute, everyone was applauding and cheering and pouring champagne. Then the guests blinked and opened their eyes to muskets in their faces, receiving horrified looks from the knights-in-training next to Egypt. Guards surrounded the Kings and Queens of the other kingdoms and the entirety of the kingdom of war stood by and smirked.

Well, almost the entirety of the kingdom.

At any rate, upon learning that not even Clubs knew anything of where the tower Saxony stowed her child in might be, many of the intellectuals of the Kingdom and some of the Deck devoted themselves to finding any hint to England's whereabouts. They poured themselves over maps, books, and old documents, analyzed all of Saxony's speeches and diaries after the Princess' seclusion, and tore up the rooms of the Royals. Meanwhile, the knights-no-longer-in-training were taught to leap trees in the forest, interact in the towns, deal with enemies of all kinds, navigate the high seas, and, even if they didn't know it then, the importance of being wary of magic. No one in the Spades Kingdom but Romania knew anything about it, or believed in it for that matter, but when the two had gone to speak with him to hear out what he had to say about the subject, they left with sweat beading on their foreheads, pretending they weren't afraid of it and didn't believe.

"Your biggest enemy, if you are to encounter them, will be the Jokers."

Romania held two cards in his gloved hand, each painted with an impish face. America and Australia each took a card and looked at it pensively.

The man in front of them blew a flame the color of his hair between his fingers, and it danced across the table illustrating the image of the two Jokers. The heroes met the blood-red eyes of a smirking devil that laughed at them. His friend, who looked nothing more than a mere child, tumbled forward, giggling mischievously, and the two ran off to break vases, ruin relationships, and pester Kings and Queens all in the course of twelve seconds. The two watched in apprehension as Romania spoke over their thoughts.

"These two are nothing but trouble, spread nothing but mischief, and if it seems that they are willing to do a good deed or help you out, they have an ulterior motive. Always." America's brow furrowed, etching the image of the enemy in his mind, his chest constricting at hearing their high-pitched laughter as the flame flickered out.

"Avoid them at all costs."

Turkey may have been an old man, and a crude one at that, but he was well versed in the art of war and survival and proved his worth as the boys' mentor. America was ashamed to admit it, but he would actually kind of miss his company.

China was to join the two on the expedition as an escort, but Egypt had second thoughts at the last minute and grabbed his shoulder before the group left to pack, grunting his disapproval.

The Jack understood why he was needed back at home, and explained to his upset friends in their quarters afterwards.

"We already have two missing cards in our deck and our best knights are leaving for who knows how long," China said. "If I left, the castle would be attacked."

"How do you know?" America challenged from the top bunk of the bed, his arms folded around his pillow.

"Everyone wants a piece of the Spades Kingdom. At the slightest sign of vulnerability, Russia will pounce. You know that."

America pouted into the soft face of the pillow. His friend sighed pitiably, and ran his fingers through his black hair.

"Sorry, but it's just you two this time." China smiled. "You know, I really believe in you. There's no doubt in my mind that you will find England and return safely. Since Australia is with you, America, you can't do anything too stupid."

A soft pillow crashed hard into China's face from above, followed by peals of laughter. China jerked the pillow from his face, growling and throwing it back up the bunk at America with the intent to hit him. Unfortunately, the knight was a little too quick for the petite Chinese man and smacked it before it hit him, causing it to jet to the floor again and hit China in the stomach. The roommates laughed as they all began to maul each other with the fluffy weaponry.

Two hours later, America and Australia fell back onto the bottom bunk of their bed. Cloth and feathers littered the room like confetti. China had collapsed on the floor, snoring lightly. America volunteered to carry him back to his room, but Australia shook his head, insisting that China would be happier if they left him as is.

They snickered together, resting their heads on their arms.

"I can't believe this is it," America whispered to the brunette opposite him.

"Yeah. It's… unreal."

"I know. This is the last time we're all going to be together for pretty much forever."

"Man, don't say that!" Australia hit America in the face with his pillow playfully, receiving giggles from the younger knight. "It makes me depressed."

"Me too," America sighed with a sad smile. "I understand why he can't come, but it doesn't make it fair."

"Why do you say that?" Australia lifted his foot in the air and tapped the bunk above him.

"Because we could be gone for a year and, y'know, I don't want another reason to miss home." A rock seemed to settle in America's chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He didn't even want to think about being homesick, even though it was inevitable. He knew the first night alone would be the hardest, and he was dreading it.

"I know." Australia yawned, his eyes struggling to stay open. "I know."

America ended up not being able to sleep a wink, and when the others awoke, he moaned a hoarse good morning that made them wonder whether or not he was fit to leave.

It honestly did not matter, as they had spent the majority of the day receiving all kinds of items. Hong Kong and Macau had given them the collection of their research, which amounted to maps with marked locations, special legends, and a compass that always pointed in the direction of home instead of North. Mongolia presented them with armor; Romania gave them a magical charm that neither of them knew what to do with.

"Oh, it will come in handy." The redhead had said with a tip of his hat, but the knights failed to understand the importance of his words.

They were given all the practical items: sleeping blankets, fire starters, water, rope, lanterns, enormous bags of raisins, nuts, and dried berries. These were stuffed in packs that the boys slung over their shoulders, thanking the subjects that gifted them.

They then walked out to the front of the castle, and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight that unfolded before them. In front of the open gates stood a line of guards and in front of those guards amassed what looked like the entire Spades Kingdom.

"There's gotta be like three hundred people out there," America breathed, his eyes widened in surprise.

"More like three _thousand_ mate," Australia responded, his thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. The two were ushered along and plunged into the excited blue and black crowd. Words and sounds of every decibel thrust at their ears, and America pondered whether or not he'd discovered the feeling of claustrophobia. They kissed babies, shook hands, received blessings, and promised they'd return with the impending Queen.

Over the white noise and the fleeting introductions, one meeting really stuck with America. America noticed him in a clearing, the out of place child with big, green eyes. The boy jumped around, trying to catch a glimpse of the action. His little cap and baggy clothes did him no favors, constantly tripping him and falling off. America was charmed by his childish awkwardness and weeded his way through the curious crowd to kneel beside him. The boy was overwhelmed as the knight flashed him one of his perfect bright smiles, and started to speak with him.

"Hey there," America said gently.

"H-hello," the child mumbled, his own little smile climbing onto his face. "Are you… America?"

The American chuckled at his nervousness.

"Yup, that's me!" He replied, his usual energetic attitude kissing his words.

"Don't laugh! It's just that…" The boy seemed to burst with emotion. "You're gonna be a hero! You know that? A real hero! You're going to save the Princess, aren't you?" The boy looked up at the American shyly. "I want to be… just like you someday..."

America blushed at this confession and grinned widely. He ruffled the boy's hair and, for the first time all day, gave someone a sincere look.

"You can be a knight too someday. Who knows? Maybe I'll be your commanding officer. Do you want to know the secret to being a hero?" The child looked up at America, and saw the fire of determination in his blue eyes.

And he believed.

"What?" He asked admiringly.

"No matter what you decide to do in life, if you work hard and dream big, you're going to be a hero too. Don't ever forget that."

At last, it was time to get dressed to leave. The silence pooled around the knights as they put on their armor and stuck their swords in their spade-spackled sheaths. They exchanged encouraging smiles as they left the knight's quarters for the final time and were seen off by the castle inhabitants.

And now they were here, trekking through the snowy midnight air to saddle up the horses and begin their journey.

"You got the map?" Australia breathed, a white puff of fog materializing his words. He saddled up his black stallion, petting his side as he buckled the seat on.

America had already mounted his horse and seemed to be in a daze. His eyes were absolved of their usual spark, and he hadn't a fraction of a smile upon his lips. "You aren't _really_ going to touch England, right?" He mumbled.

Australia lifted his hands in surprise and defense. "Of course not! I was just teasing, you know."

America slid his cobalt eyes to the left and stared critically at Australia. Brown met blue in a battle of dominance, and in the end, Australia's sincerity shone through. America smiled gently.

"I believe you," He whispered, understanding enveloping and comforting them. "Hell, you're my best friend!" He laughed, relieved.

"I'll take that as an apology," Australia grinned at his friend. "Why were you being so protective, Mr. Jealousy?" He threw one if his long legs over the horse, lifting himself up onto the saddle.

"Jealous? Who am I to get jealous? She's not even mine!" America smirked. "It was a matter of etiquette." He waved his hand back and forth, indicating its pettiness.

"Honestly, I don't get it. We haven't seen her in years and last I remember, she wasn't really that cute." Australia adjusted the golden reins in his hands. "Putting those eyebrows on a girl is a crime."

"You're one to talk, look at those monstrosities." America jabbed playfully, pointing at Australia's own furry eyebrows.

"Hey, these are dignified!" Australia laughed. With a flick of his wrists, his horse began to trot out of the stable, shaking his long black mane. "So! Let's have an election, eh? I nominate you for position of Official Navigator! Going once?"

"What? No way! I'll be way to busy doing hero stuff! You know, like saving damsels in distress, beating up bandits, that kind of thing?" America tapped his horse with the side of his boot, and she walked slowly outside beside Australia. He scratched her gently in between the ears, straightening out the blanket he had put under his saddle because he knew she got cold easily.

"I can beat up bandits too, you know." Australia snorted, earning a laugh from his companion.

"Oh please, don't act like everyone in the castle doesn't know you used to be a criminal. Heads up." America extracted the yellowing map from the sack on his horse and tossed it to his friend. Australia did not fail to catch the delivery or return America's comment with a nasty look. America just smiled and snapped the reins, his horse galloping into the glossy snow.

"And a damn good one at that," Australia retorted, leading his own horse in a gallop in front of America's.

"Hey!" America blurt, his voice flecked with insult. "You just cut me off!"

"Yeah, well, I have to be in front if we're going to know where we're going, mate." Australia ripped out the map with a flourish and held it in one hand, slinging the navy sack of presents around his chest and digging in it. A long chain dangled from his rising hand. He looped the chain around his neck, the spade-adorned compass tapping back against his chest.

"Alright," he began, scanning the yellowing map with his eyes. Unfolded in front of him was the outlining of the Spades Kingdom, rivers and routes running through it. The islands dotting the border touched each corner of the map, and among them Australia found his own homeland. He smirked, touching it, remembering how exciting his life was as a pirate and a thief.

He stole and drank and sailed until he went a little too far and broke into a Card's family home. He was swiftly beaten and finally captured. Thrown on his knees in the throne room, he was brought in front of her Highness, the Queen Saxony for judgment. Australia lifted his head up, scowling, only to have it replaced with a look of utter confusion at who was sitting in the throne.

A young, spiky haired girl?

He presumed it was a girl, since she was wearing a dress. But she had little of the graceful femininity expected of a girl, much less a princess. Her legs were not crossed, but her arms were as she sat in the gold encrusted chair lazily. Her emerald green eyes were not upon Australia, but the window above as if she wished she could fly out of it into the clear, blue sky. The guard cleared his throat and she, startled and flustered, straightened up and tried to look authoritative.

"Ah, ah, um… State your business." She mumbled.

"Ah, yes, well," The knight gave the reigning princess a skeptical look as he began to list. "This criminal is brought in front of the kingdom to be judged for the following crimes: Larceny, Burglary, Grand Theft, Robbery, Possession of Stolen Property."

"Wow, you just couldn't keep your hands off of other people's property, could you?" The princess laughed. Australia wasn't sure whether to be offended or intrigued. He raised an eyebrow, to the revelation of the princess who ceased her laughing and simply nodded continual.

He couldn't help his smirk. She was definitely interesting. What royalty paid mind to the thoughts of a criminal?

"What is the sentence, your Highness?" The guards stood attention again, unfazed by her impropriety. England straightened again. Her eyes darted around the room, thoughtfully, until she caught the azure eye of a child in the door. The eye gasped and disappeared immediately, making her grin knowingly. She turned her attention back to the criminal in front of her who bowed his head with the same, ever-present smirk on his face.

"Am I," she began, never taking her eyes off of the kneeling criminal, "supposed to kill him?"

The guards looked at each other in disbelief. "You are the one who is to make the decision, your Majesty. It's protocol."

The knight beside Australia sighed in exasperation, but patiently answered, "Your Highness, death or imprisonment are normal punishments for a criminal of his caliber."

Her arm dropped to her knee and she gazed pensively at the tanned man in front of her. He was knocked back by her stare and met it with wide, surprised eyes. Seconds passed as the staring contest unfolded, finally ending with England breathing out and smiling deviously.

"Train him."

"What?" The knight almost jumped in astonishment.

"He's an orphan, too, who steals to live. I can tell by his rags. He hasn't had a pair of new clothes in ages, or seen a spool of thread for that matter." She huffed sternly at Australia's bewildered look.

'How did she know that?' Australia thought, amazed.

"He's not a bad person, at least, not that I've been proven to believe. Make him a knight, stick him with the worst of your chores, give him the toughest master we've got, and if you find him making one mistake, misplacing one fork, leaving one stray hair uncombed, throw him in the dungeon. We need someone who knows thieves and pirates." She stood up. "And I guess I have a bit of a sweet spot for orphans."

The knight sputtered questions of what her mother would do after her, much to her annoyance, but the words just flew past her as if nothing more than a gentle wind. The guards just stared at her in utter shock and incredulity, watching her march out the door and immediately shift all of her attention over to the snooping boy at the door. A big smile dawned his face, but quickly melted into tears as she tugged at his stray strand of hair and scowled.

"America, what did I say about sneaking around when I'm busy?"

Australia felt his own face twist in skepticism.

What royal was ever… compassionate?

'Then again,' he shrugged, 'she is a girl.' But some inkling of warmth sneaked inside him that day that made him wonder whether or not his whole life he'd been running from the wrong people.

Australia smiled at the memory, one of the only good ones he had of the unlikable princess. Truthfully, Australia didn't understand how America idealized England like he did. Last he could remember, she was grouchy, unattractive, uncooperative, unladylike, far too quick to anger, unable to deal with any other emotion besides anger… The list went on so far, Australia laughed under his breath.

He traced the route of a small river to the castle with the pad of his finger.

"Alright, I suggest we start by going through the field in front of the castle and following this river, Hymal, into this forest here," He said, pointing out what he was talking about on the map to America. "We'll stop by Sheraton as we pass through, sleep there; maybe eat something other than seeds." The map snapped up into Australia's hand. His other hand swooped down and snatched the reins of the horse. With a loud neigh, the horse's hooves began clicking swiftly down the icy cobblestone path.

"You're the boss," America hummed with a smile. Flicking his wrist, he beckoned his horse out of the gate and into the arms of the starry night sky.

* * *

**End Chapter 2.**

* * *

_A/N: Hey there guys! I apologize for the late update, but I got grounded for sneaking out, so they will be sparse for a while. It isn't what it sounds like though!_

_On the subject of the chapter, do you like the Australia/America bromance? My reasoning will reveal itself in due time. This ended up being more of Australia's flashbacks than I really wanted, but the adventure finally starts next chapter!_

_So until then, adieu. Sam_


	3. 3 Newport

**Knight**

**3**

America's arms grazed the sky and a yawn escaped his lips. He stretched out his legs, listening to the crackle of his bones. He stood, his feet settling in the soft grass underneath him. With his hand in his hair, he looked over at Australia, who was still peacefully asleep sprawled out on a velvety blanket. America smirked at his snores, the sun pouring its soft orange light over the rolling hills of the countryside. The branches of the tree above cast a shadow over the horses, which lay in the grass trying to reach the fallen apples with their long, wet noses.

"Carrie, Bartholomew."

America picked some up and tossed them at the horses, saying their names hoarsely.

He slept better than he expected to last night, but he hadn't expected much. It was about three hours of vivacious dreams. The rest of the time he spent wide-awake, missing the warmth and softness of his bed, the noise of the castle, the flicker of the candles, sneaking around in the middle of the night with his friends.

America tracked the circle of his thoughts in the ground with his finger.

He picked a shiny, ripe apple from a low branch on the tree. Sweet juice fled the confines of the skin as America bit into it. Chewing slowly, he slipped the map from under Australia's outstretched arm. The map rolled out, folds curved into the middle. America held the eager to cave in map down with some of the fallen apples to his sides. Cocking his head to the side, he followed the routes darting through the country with his eyes. Three black exes were painted onto its face with ink.

"These must be the places England could be," He mumbled, and noticed one of these marks in the forest stretching through nearly three-quarters of the upper half of the country. The next was on a miniscule island near the western shore, where all of the largest ports were, along with several flourishing port cities. The last was extremely close to the border between them and the Diamonds Kingdom. America was unenthusiastic to venture there and prayed it wouldn't go that far.

"Hopefully we get lucky the first time," he added, taking another huge bite out of his apple.

"Now that I think about it, though," America ran his hand through his hair as Australia rose on his elbows. "Doesn't most of the magic stuff happen in the forest? Bandits I can handle, but ogres? Trolls? Pixies or whatever?" He nervously bit into the apple again. "Maybe we should start from left to right and go seaward first, where the biggest threat is pirates."

"Oh yes, and there aren't cyclones to worry about or sharks or storms or the tide," Australia groaned from his spot.

"At least we won't have to deal with something we have no experience with, like magic, mister pirate," America chewed his apple grumpily.

Australia gave him a stern look, but America wasn't taking no for an answer.

"You are one contradictory man." Australia grunted, getting up from the ground and rolling the blanket. He sighed, stuffing it into his pack. Australia slinked over beside the mulling knight, and snatched the map from underneath America's apples. A nasty look accompanied the unnecessary flourish with which Australia opened the map.

"Fine. We'll head for Newport from here on out."

"Keep popping it like that and it's gonna rip," America pouted, but Australia ignored him instead whispering to Bartholomew and petting his dark, shiny mane.

The boys mounted their horses, packs stuffed with apples slung over their shoulders. Australia pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed gruffly. America gave an empathetic smile.

"You really aren't a morning person are you?" He poked.

Australia just gave him a lopsided, bemused grin, generating a laugh from his counterpart.

"Right then! Newport it is!" He tapped the golden-brown horse underneath him with his boot, sending her into a fleeting gallop across the stretching green grass.

* * *

The wind rushed past them, the horseshoes clicked on the grass underneath; the sun glinted high in the sky. The land eventually flattened out, the knights passing blossoming farms along picket fence paths. America waved to a wandering child, who only gazed curiously at his fleeing person, squeezing her doll in her arms.

Watermelons and tomatoes rolled out of sight, and draping trees and rocky streams took their place. The boys had to dismount once they reached the Hymel River, its fresh, clear water glittering under the pressing light of the sun. They removed their boots, and coaxed the horses across the rocky bottom against the gentle current. America splashed Australia with water and his obnoxious laughter. Australia, now in a better mood, smiled mischievously. When America turned his back to fill his canteen, Australia saw his chance. He quickly filled his own canteen and ran up to the younger knight. Before America could turn around or say a word, water splashed onto his golden-brown head and soaked him completely. Roaring laughter emitted from Australia, hands on his knees and breathing shallowly. America whipped his wet hair, glaring back at his counterpart and advancing on him predatorily. A shadow cast over the guffawing Australian who looked up to witness a pair of hands push him lightly into the rocky river. He submerged and immediately resurfaced, shaking his hair out and gasping loudly, "You bastard! You bastard! You fat American bastard, I can't believe you did that! You suck!"

This came much to the amusement of America, who just fell back onto the grass and laughed, the hooves of the horses clomping contentedly next to his sopping wet head.

* * *

"Hey Australia," America called to the black vested back in front of him. Australia's white shirt was still a little wet and stuck to his body, see-through, and the beating sun was probably not helping. It wasn't hot, not at all, in fact, it was April, but so much sun gifted the boys with beads of sweat upon their backs and hairlines. In fact, America was greatly disturbed by the recently fluctuating weather, and hoped that neither magic nor the Jokers were involved in any way.

"Hm?" He hummed deeply.

"What do you think the real reason was for us being chosen?" America leaned back on his saddle, swinging his legs back and forth.

Australia was taken aback with this question, turning slightly in his seat. He rubbed the grisly side of his face.

"I'm not sure what you mean, mate. Uh, mind expanding on that?"

"Like," America dug an apple out of his pack and bit out of it hungrily. "You know, that time Egypt came and watched our duels." Some shreds of apple sprayed from his mouth. "Do you think he might've been judging us?"

Australia pursed his lips and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Could have. Maybe our commanding officers gave him information."

"I wonder," America breathed. "Because it's not like we can ask him when we get back."

Australia nodded. "But we could still ask Turkey or one of our mentors."

America considered this. "True," he responded, "But I have a feeling that he wouldn't give that information out."

"Who, Turkey?" Australia traced his finger on the route of the map, turning to the left. The grass began to peter out and morphed into a rather sandy path. Rocks dotted the shifty beige ground underneath.

"No Egypt. He's so… silent. But deadly. Like methane gas or carbon monoxide." America babbled. He began to wobble upon Carrie, her grip unstable on the sand. "Uh, Australia, was there any other way besides the Sahara here?"

"If you move her to the right, there's some pretty solid ground here." Australia responded, beckoning to America's horse. America looked to the ground pensively, and then to his horse's shaking head. He sucked his teeth in and jumped off of the saddle. Australia stared quizzically while America led his horse across the sand and onto the firm ground Bartholomew trotted on.

"What are you doing?" Australia asked curiously.

"I figured she needed a break anyway," America chimed with an infectious grin.

Australia grinned back, hopping off next to him and leading his horse with America through the sandy path.

* * *

Egypt's heels clicked down the ivory floor, a knight on either side. Silence followed them. He pushed open the tall doors, and under the light of the setting sun sat a table of serious faces all gazing at him. Each golden stand resting on the table had a number carved in its face, telling the others of the status of his master. At the head lay 'A', an intricate spade curling around its shape. This is where Egypt sat, stern lips pursed.

"Are we here to talk about the war?" A high voice penetrated the silence. Everyone turned to glare at the eight, who seemed to catch his slip and retreated into his seat.

"Geez, you guys." Poland huffed and pouted, blushing from shame.

Egypt nodded curtly, and the Deck of Spades braced themselves, fists curled, lips pursed, and muscles tightened.

They were not eager for war. They were experienced in the practice, yes, but they did not cause it without reason. But Egypt, with the few words he had spoken, convinced the Cards around him of the nobility of his cause and the importance of the task (because he'd presented it as merely a task). No one commented how much it reminded them of the terrifying King across the Western sea, nor how dismal their outlook was. They had no allies: Clubs hated them, Diamonds betrayed them, and Hearts was the whole reason for this war. The veterans circling the table were hardly enough to win a three against one war of domination, no matter how big they built their army of citizens, prisoners, and those willing to betray their home country. They hadn't even a King or Queen.

These facts once presented in front of Egypt were highly and heatedly critiqued. Cards argued, solutions were rarely met, and the only thing they could all agree on was regaining custody of England. This particular meeting directly followed that one, and it considerably intimidated the whole deck of Spades because of the simple detail that not a person currently sitting at the table had any idea what to do.

"I say we throw all of our cards on the table. Tell all the Kingdoms exactly what we are doing in an open setting and deliver the first hit. Personally, I think that's the way we're going to get the advantage," South Korea proposed with vigor.

"Um, excuse me, but the minute the word 'War' comes out of our mouths, there will be blood, and it isn't going to be any of the other Kingdoms'." Hong Kong interjected.

"That strategy is going to exhaust our army within hours." Vietnam added, with a nod.

"No, you see, this could be a good thing. It's a power play. We release a statement that's so intimidating that the other kingdoms are paralyzed by fear! It's possible, Poland's done it!" South Korea pushed, pointing to the pouty green-eyed eight.

"Well, I mean, I didn't, like, prevent a war or anything." Poland noted.

"But you did subjugate Russia, which says a lot." Macao voiced, making South Korea gasp, appreciative that someone was on his side.

"Yeah, but once he, like got what we were doing, his revenge was totally swift and super painful." He shuddered. "I'm just saying, don't, like, use me as an example."

"Maybe we should just invade secretly, and chop off the leader's head. That would scare them a lot." Turkey cawed, smirking and shaking his finger.

"Really, you need to modernize! You can't just cut people's heads off anymore!" South Korea shouted.

Hong Kong shook his head and turned to the head of the table. "Egypt, what do you think?"

Egypt just shrugged, his eyebrows furrowed pensively. The surrounding numbers sighed.

"I do wish you'd talk more."

"Yeah, unless he's giving a speech, it's like his mouth never moves." Poland joked.

"Well, it's refreshing to see someone being quiet among this bunch." Vietnam remarked sternly.

"Ah, we aren't that zealous, are we?" Romania dismissed, flailing his hand back and forth.

"You can't say that with South Korea running around saying 'Da ze!' all the time," Mongolia grumbled, earning an approving nod from the other Asian numbers at the table.

"What?" South Korea whined, placing a long emphasis on the word.

"Don't say 'what', we address it all the time." Macao piped.

"Will you idiots get back on topic?" Turkey growled, beginning a bought of heavy bickering from every direction.

"Teacher, you've had that troubled look on your face the whole time," Hong Kong peered over at China, who did indeed have his eyes on the table and his chin in his hand, thinking critically.

"I'm trying to think of a way to skirt around this so that we don't have bodies stacked up on either side," China whispered, averting the gaze of the man talking to him. "The Spades Empire Initiative is a doomsday device, Hong Kong, nothing good will come of this impending war," China sighed in frustration and impulsively raised his voice. "It's like these people do not even understand the implications of war!"

The bickering ceased.

"Hey," Poland pronounced seriously, "If anyone understands the consequences of war, it's me."

The impact of Poland's words knocked the Cards of the Deck back into their seats, quieted with remorse.

"I… I know, Poland," China breathed softly, the eight looking down and biting his lip, a pained look etched on his youthful face. "If we are to prevent the atrocity that happened to you from happening again, we can't be foolish at these meetings. We have to have some tact-"

Egypt stood, unable to look up from the table. The Cards turned to look at him nervously, as the words seemed to just tumble from his mouth uncontrollably.

"Atrocity that happened to him? What about my poor mother? That man who ripped her heart out and killed her without mercy is so glorified, so respected. His descendants live so peacefully and prosperously without persecution… But what of my mother? What of me? We're just pictured as slave drivers," He clenched his fists. "No one appreciates what she did for the world, how intelligent she was, how beautiful, because she lived in Rome and Greece's shadows, shadows selfishly and unworthily cast. She deserved more." His eyes darted up and caught the astonished faces of the Cards before him. A deep unease set through the rest of his numbered companions, who were frozen to their seats. Brown eyes flickered with a mixture of pity, shock, and…

Fear.

He grunted contemptuously and left the room.

"I just hope that somehow, when she returns, England can put a stop to this." China's brown eyes laced with watering worry, he emitted a sigh and rubbed his temples.

The Cards just gazed at the door, black and blue swishing back and forth in the deluding distance.

* * *

Shadows of trees enveloped their persons, breezes blew in from the nearby ocean, and feet ached from exertion. Weed bearing patches of dirt and grass littered the dry rolling ground. Wild berries dangled from ratty bushes, seagulls squawked from places unseen, ground cracked under their feet. They passed blue roofed houses with chipped paint, balconies curling around their sides, porches digging into the ground. Once or twice, they'd duck under the shade of one, giving their horses a bit of water and wiping the sweat from their brows. Clouds drifted by, morphing, shifting, free of limitations. America couldn't help but stare longingly at them, wondering if he would ever share that freedom, experience and evolve like the sky above.

"What does it even mean?" America involuntarily mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Australia asked, jolting the musing knight beside him from his thoughts.

"Ah, um, I was just wondering," America started to trail off again, replacing his stare in the sky. "What freedom is."

"I have no idea what you mean. You're kind of philosophical. It's strange," Australia whistled, "because it's you."

"What do you mean by that?" America asked inquisitively.

"Just that you seem like this simple, fun guy, but secretly, you're a deep thinker. It's actually a bit unnerving!" He chuckled lightheartedly. "What other things do you keep secrets about?"

"I have my share. I'm not the only one keeping secrets, though," America pointed, smiling.

"I guess I can't fight that one," Australia said softly. Suddenly, a cold breeze blew from the west and carried their conversation out with it.

The sun was falling prey to the West as well, its light fading as it was eaten by the horizon. Dim reds and oranges replaced once brilliant yellows illuminating the ground.

Luckily, with the breeze came the harmonious chime of the dulcimer, and the distant commotion of a hustling marketplace. In the nearby west laid a blurry assortment of buildings with the sun looming right above its spindling bell tower. A lighthouse flickered on and illuminated the rocky beach underneath; steam rose from the chimneys of the neatly stacked buildings, laundry fluttered from polished balconies. A single ship sailed portside and dropped its anchor with a large splash into the saline sea. Led by a cobblestone path, the duo chased the sun, horses neighing happily at the savory scents wafting from the windows.

Entering Newport, the talk surrounding the fruits and fishes of the market grew loud and the white and gray-bricked buildings began to tower over them, in irregular, yet comfortable lines. Painted wooden signs hung in the windows and from the roofs. Ships lay to rest in the nearby shipyard, men hauling crates and hollering demands to each other over the lightly crashing waves. The blue and violet banners of the Spades Kingdom lined the lampposts, which were being lit by a soot-covered young man. He took notice of the knights and ducked away from the lamps, running in the opposite direction. America watched him with an air of suspicion, but paid no heed to him as he followed Australia to a warmly lit inn.

"Tie her here," He heard his friend call from behind the building, turning his attention back.

"Actually," he answered, "Let me go in and reserve a room."

"'Kay," Australia approved, and bounded back up to take the reins from America. They exchanged a nod, and the younger knight headed into the building.

Men clinked beers and shouted, singing jaunty tunes at the oaken bar. A few beautiful women draped on some muscular men who shot dice in the corner. He smiled and strolled in boldly, making his way to the bar where the owner stood, chatting. However, instead of people parting for him and smiling, they pushed him, crowded him, and blocked him with scowls and sneers. He figured that this rudeness was due to the patrons' collective blood alcohol content, but he was still rendered helpless. He was used to people paying attention to him when he entered a room, but the fact that he was young, in practical clothing, and obviously a wanderer left him alone and confused in a sea of drunken gamblers.

Suddenly, a bump.

It was an accident.

But it didn't matter. His vision went black.

* * *

**End Chapter 3.**

* * *

_A/N: Hola amigas! Ooooh, barfight! What does this entail for our heroes? _

_Small note for your reference: The Deck is used to describe the entirety of the Cards of the Four Kingdoms. The Deck of Spades, etc. is used to describe the entirety of the Cards of one Kingdom. The Cards, more often than not, is used to describe every card but the face cards and Ace. _

_Also, a little reference for Newport: Imagine Massachusetts._

_We won't be seeing England for a while, unfortunately. We'll check up on him soon, but he won't be put into play for a little while. So stick around! _

_Remember to R&R! Thanks for reading! __~Sam_


	4. 4 Pirates

**Knight**

**4**

"Harold!" A voice shrieked.

America felt a hand on his back.

"Oh, this poor guy," Another voice hummed softly in close proximity. America flinched, opening his eyes to the glinting light of the lamp above.

"What the hell?" He heard himself ask, slapping a hand to his cheekbone and propping himself up on his other elbow.

Blonde hair obstructed his vision, and he met the kindly gaze of a young woman. He sat up fully with the help of the older brunette woman to his right, and nodded to her, giving the women a brilliant, unwavering smile despite having been knocked to the ground.

"Thanks."

The blonde smiled back sympathetically.

The older woman scrambled to her feet, straightening her apron and the skirts of her green dress. The rowdy barmen jeered at the boy on the floor, who stared coldly at the wall, gritting his teeth, appearing ready to tear it to pieces. However, the blonde still next to him gripped his arm, and he was forced to restrain himself from striking back. The woman whipped her head around to stare disgustedly at the noise coming from the bar. Then she looked to the gloating face of the perpetrator, Harold, who rolled the darts between his fingers with every drunken sneer.

"Now you listen here," the older woman growled sternly, shutting up the acerbic crowd. "I allow you to park your wasteful behinds in my store and do your silly risky business, shaming this city. But I won't have you, not even in the seedy nightlife, in my bar _fighting_. Now, I suggest either you pay for this boy's beers or you _get_, because I'm not letting this incident go without someone paying the price."

She glared at the intimidated bystanders, frozen in their spots.

"What are ya'll looking at?" She spat, and they turned back to their alcohol without comment.

"So?" She glared into the bearded man before her, unfazed by his grimace even in her short stature. "What's it going to be?"

Silence.

Then, he dug into his pocket, never taking his eyes off of the woman, and set money on the bar behind him.

"One please," he snorted gruffly, but America objected from his place on the ground.

"I'm not old enough to drink yet."

The man turned to him, confused. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"My friend and I are here to stay the night." The skeptical look continued as America's eyes darted around uneasily.

"Isn't this an inn?" He sputtered to the silence from the man across from him, receiving a hearty laugh much akin to his own. A faltering grin spread across his face, but not in time to cover the rosy blush of shame or avoid a hard but friendly clap on the shoulder from the white-haired drunkard.

"Lad, just because the name of the bar is Brewer's Inn does not make it an inn," He guffawed, his blue eyes no longer intimidating, but friendly. America found it a might annoying, actually, and if not for the sake of manners, would have gladly gotten the drunk acquainted with his fist.

"Oh, dear," the brown haired woman was behind the bar again, her skirts flurrying as she rushed empty mugs to the kegs in the wall. She leant over the bar after passing back the beers to talk to them. "You thought you could board here, huh?"

America's face fell in realization. "Oh no," he sighed, just as he felt a hand grapple his elbow.

"Ameri-" America hastily drew his hand over his neck in a cutting motion, panicking that the people would realize that he wasn't one of them. Australia shut his mouth quickly but added in a breath, "I was looking for you."

"Seems we made a mistake, dude. This isn't an inn at all," America grinned apologetically. "It's a bar."

Australia's smile disappeared as he looked to the bartender's pitying frown. "What?" He choked, and pointed firmly to the black sky outside. "Look at that, Al." America's face contorted at the label, and Australia's eyes pleaded for him to just go with it.

"It's pitch black out and we have nowhere to go. I already tied up the horses. What are we going to do?" He whimpered, his friend's shoulders collapsing to his sides.

America's dejectedly blue eyes slid over to the elder woman behind the bar. She shook her head, her brown eyes unable to meet the young knight's properly. "Sorry darling, there's no room at this inn."

Harold shrugged, but a gentle voice piped up from behind Australia's towering figure. "You can stay with me."

Like a door, Australia flung to the side, letting America settle his eyes upon the blonde woman from before, repeatedly gripping and flattening her short pink dress. Abashedly, she met America's astounded gaze.

"Really?" He perked up mirthfully, much like an excited puppy, procuring a giggle from the long-legged woman across from him.

"Yes." She smiled warmly. "I've got open rooms."

"Th-thank you so much," America's voice quivered as he vigorously took her hand, shaking it gratefully. The woman blushed and giggled, grasping the knight's hand in hers and leading him through the echoing wooden floors of the bar.

Australia shot the two an apprehensive glance before shouting after his friend, "Yo, Alfred! I've already weaved my way through this crowd, might as well have a drink or two, eh?"

America turned around at the older knight's booming voice, a smile on his lips and an encouraging glint in his eyes.

"R-right!" He called back, eventually breaking out in his own familiar confident smile. "Then, should I come looking for you soon?"

"If I haven't wandered out drunk on the street!" He laughed. America grinned back and waved as his new lady friend rushed him out of the glowing bar and into the arms of the muggy night air.

* * *

The lamps burned brightly despite the wet atmosphere around them, illuminating the night streets. The emblem of the Spades Kingdom fluttered from a nearby building and America smiled in recognition. Looking at the nearby ocean shore, ebbing and flowing under the blanket of moonlight, he finally realized how far from home he was. He'd never been to a beach before. The waves seemed to hypnotize him, his blue eyes rolling alongside them. The girl on his arm smiled up at him, her brown eyes glinting mischievously, leading him to look away uncomfortably.

"You've never seen the ocean before have you, Al?"

"No, actually. I've been… sheltered for most of my life." While this wasn't a lie, America still felt as if he was being secretive and dishonest to his host, and it didn't settle well with his justice-bound persona.

"Protective parents?"

"Not as much as I had my plate full, you know what I mean?" He chuckled a bit.

"Yeah, I do."

"So," he started, "You know my name, but I don't know yours. I feel like it's my responsibility to know too, because you're letting me stay with you…" He turned to face her completely, using the distraction to draw his arm from hers. "By the way, thanks again, you don't know what it means to me."

"Oh, it's my pleasure Mr. Alfred," she said energetically. "Ah, it's Elaine. Elaine Johnson."

"Nice to meet you Elaine." He nodded.

"So, Alfred," she mused, "Where are you from?"

"…Uh… the Capital." He faltered, sliding his eyes to the right as she jumped from his side in excitement.

"Wow! Seriously?" The words began to tumble forth in fervor. "I _thought_ you were nicely dressed! A noble!"

"No, me? No, I'm not a noble. I just work the boilers in the castle basement." He lied, pretending to look away bashfully instead of covering up his horrible poker face.

"Oh, still, you've been in the castle," She laughed. "I guess I finally understand what you mean when you say you have a lot on your plate!"

"Yeah," America sighed. "It's pretty glamorous."

He actually missed the Capital now that he thought about it. He didn't really get to tell the jewel city goodbye.

He and Australia had left out of the back gate for security reasons: after Spades' little demonstration, the other kingdoms were up in arms, ready to strike at the second Spades showed them an opening. Even without a King and Queen, the other kingdoms were smart enough to know better than to invade the kingdom of war on their own turf. Not only did they have a powerful Ace, a wise Jack, and a very experienced Deck, they had a very capable population who notably did their country proud on the battlefield even when their luck was down, especially the province America was from.

Speaking of the young knight, the other countries were painfully aware of him and his graduating class, the most proficient in Spades history. America was strong, _freakishly_ strong, and all of the other kingdoms knew that. News about the new, promising knight wasn't only popular in the Spades Kingdom. If he were given the Sword of Spades, his power could suitably rival that of a full-fledged army. If they knew he'd actually left the castle rather than staged the event, there would be no telling what would happen. They only had to put one foot in the door of war…

At any rate, he missed tagging along with the servants to do the shopping; floating among the slickly cut stone sidewalks, lavish fountains, shop windows and stalls, all bursting with color and life. The castle watched over its bustling capitol in the nearby distance as if it were a mother watching her children play outside. The city bathed in purple, black, blue and flecks of gold, the plaza bricked with a large circumscribed spade. Breads and meats and toys set out for patrons to peruse, young and old alike milling around in the square, gossip spreading, children laughing. America's heart panged at the picture.

"You miss home," She stated. He nodded at her but with a brazen smile rather than a sad one.

"So I'm a bit homesick. Even so, me and …Elliot," The name rolled awkwardly off his tongue, "are going on a big mission. And I'm too excited to be scared or homesick! We don't have time for that."

"Ooh, so you aren't just another traveler," she latched onto America's arm and teased him. "What's the mission, eh?"

"We're just… delivering a parcel to Westminster," he fumbled, backing up from the imposing girl, drawing his hands up and away from her. She frowned slightly, but paid it no mind as she stopped in front of a speckled whitewash building.

"This is it," she remarked quietly, unveiling a key and twisting the door open into a shop drenched in darkness. America tread lightly as Elaine began to light the candles hanging in her house.

"A beauty parlor," America mused, the light beginning to uncover the room. Elaine walked back to the brunette and held out a flickering candle. She raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a bubbly smile. Unable to understand her intentions, he followed her through the salon into a narrow doorway unveiling a steep wooden staircase. He began to scale this, his eyes on her candlelight the whole time, enveloped in her shadow, until he heard a crack under his foot.

America bent down and shed the light on his foot. A brightly painted rattle lay under his foot, stem shattered. He picked it up and scaled the rest of the stairs to her flat.

"Hey, Elaine," he whispered, suspect of a sleeping child nearby, "Do you have a baby or something?"

Elaine wheeled around on her heel, shock boring into her features as she yanked the rattle from the young knight's hand. Confused, he retracted his hand as she turned away from him, pursed her lips and tapped her toe heatedly.

"No," she answered finally, "My parents gave it to me because… they're expecting me to get married and have a family. Soon. It's their form of pressuring me into wedding, I guess."

"Do you not want to get married?" he asked.

"It's not that, it's just that," her brown eyes clouded over. "I haven't found the right one yet, and now… I'm getting older, and becoming more unattractive… and more anxious… As my mom says, 'The clock is ticking'…"

America pursed his lips uncomfortably.

"So that was why you let me stay with you?"

Her head snapped back to him, her eyes watering over, spilling all of the apologies she said for the years of pain she inflicted on herself because she couldn't just tell her family the truth. For the many men she found herself going far too fast with and clinging on to desperately, losing all respectability. Every broken heart, teary night, streamed down her face in a moment when she realized that the way she was going about it, she could never get married.

He bit his cheek and sighed pitiably.

"I'm going to go find my friend."

She nodded, shaking, and hastily walked away from the window.

The humidity began to freeze without the warm blanket of sunlight around it. America felt its shivers on his arms and cheeks too, shivering a bit himself as he stepped out into the dimly lit street. The quiet settled all around him, unfortunately giving him time to think.

What was Elaine to him? A first brutal encounter with the world he didn't see?

He shook his head, unable to understand God's cruelty.

More of the world revealed itself to him as he entered the bar once more, finding angry, stumbling, uncontrollable drunks swinging themselves around and falling over anything in sight. Some would eventually filter out into the streets to be found by wives or girlfriends, with whom they would enter fierce yelling matches as they were tearfully dragged home. He weaved his way around them in antipathy, finding his way to the front of the bar. Stepping up on one of the wooden stools, he craned his neck around in search of brown hair and large eyebrows. Booze, red-eyes, plaid jackets and a dartboard flit past his eyes before he finally spotted the man in question, laughing and drinking shots with the man who'd bruised America's cheek.

He bit back his irritation and walked to Australia's side, greeting his friend with a trademark smile, which Australia, even when tipsy, was slowly supposing to be more and more forced.

"Heeey America! Listen, have you met my friend Harold?" Australia pat the white-bearded man on the back roughly.

"Yeah," He replied snippily, "We've met."

Harold shrugged at America's dissonance.

"He's a sea captain, y'know, that means he has a ship!" Australia said energetically.

"And?" America raised his eyebrow at his inebriated friend.

"Hard to Starboard Island!" Australia sang, and he laughed a little too loudly and slapped the knight across from him on the shoulder. America flinched and removed the older knight's hand.

"You're drunk," he stated, "and you're going to bed now."

"What?" The Australian whined, tapping his shot glass on the tabletop, "But!"

"No, we have to get going early tomorrow morning, and," he cut his eyes at Harold, who leaned on the table and nursed his alcohol, "that probably means you should get going too, if what my friend's saying is true."

"What was I saying?" Australia drawled from under America.

"That this guy would lend us his ship," America answered, nearing the end of his patience.

"Oh yeah! Harold," Australia nodded to his companion, who raised his glass in salutation. "See you tomorrow! Don't forget, okay?" He called after him as he was being more or less dragged away by the stronger knight.

"No way, Chris!" Harold yelled back, waving at Australia and America's retreating figures.

"I guess we're going with Chris, then," America grumbled as the warmth of the bar dissipated.

Emerging from the musk in the outside, America and Australia trekked tiredly up the stairs. They found two neatly made cots placed in the living area, but no candles lit, and no sign of life anywhere.

America pursed his lips, and he watched Australia, still babbling complete nonsense, flop down on a cot. Making sure the other wasn't paying attention to him, he felt around for something to write with, found a bit of paper (never mind what was currently on it) and began to write.

* * *

The breath of the sea rushed over America's wet hair. Hulls of massive ships towered authoritatively over the walking knights, who were nudged and brushed aside by passing seamen. Full of hustle and bustle, the shipyard had sprung to life in the past few hours, the shouts of men and the rings of bells overpowering the soft voice of the mighty sea. America and Australia had washed their faces in the bathroom and, seeing no sign of their host, accompanied each other to the bar from last night. Ecstatic to see their masters, the horses whinnied as the knights loosened their reins. Packs once again slung over their shoulders, the two led their livestock into the wonderland of boats.

Australia, who was leading the walk, whipped his head back and forth. Despite his hangover, he seemed to have almost full recollection of last night's events, and apologized plenty to his younger friend when he awoke. America just sighed and hoped that no one else he knew was anything like Australia in terms of alcohol.

"Oi!" A call resounded from a corner in the port. The boys lifted their heads at the familiar voice, and watched as a hand emerged from the top of the crowd and approached them emphatically.

"Hey!" Harold shouted over the moving crowd. His white bearded face emerged from the crowd and Australia's face finally brightened.

"Harold! How are you, mate?" He shook the old sea captain's hand.

"Mighty fine, Chris, just splendid now that we've got Betsy all set," He gestured to a smaller anchored vessel in a small curve of the port. Her red sails billowed out with the restless wind, and the men atop finished preparing for sea.

"Captain of a small cargo business," Australia said to America, patting Harold on the back. "More successful than he lets on, I bet, if he does this taxi service for just any old bloke," The two across from the American chuckled. Australia extracted a small jingling pouch from his sack and shook a few gold pieces loose. "Here's the payment, mate. Just tell us where to put the horses, and we're off, I suppose! "

"Alright," Harold began to walk, escalating a ramp from the cobblestone street to the wood plank of the port. "We don't really have transport animals on the ship, so we're just going to have to tie them down in the brig."

"Whoa, there," America cut and eyed the ship hesitantly. "I'm not sure about that. Do you think they'll be safe?"

"Relax Am-Alfred," Australia assured, looking over his shoulder at his companion. "They've been on a ship before. Worse comes to worse, they whine a whole lot and we have to store you down there to calm them down."

America tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully. "Hm." In a moment, he nodded and smiled enthusiastically. "Okay!"

Once boarded, America led the horses down a slow slope of steps into the brig. The darkness made them whimper a bit, but the knight hushed and petted them comfortingly. After tying their reins to notches that he supposed held candles or ornaments, America left his animal attendants with a smile and a kiss for each.

On the deck, Australia and Harold chatted away while Harold would interrupt the conversation by giving orders to his men. America's boots tapped the deck along with the cabin boys and, for once, finding no use for himself, decided to explore the ship.

* * *

The anchor raised and the ship gracefully slid out of the port. Sunlight shone on the mast, casting a long shadow on the deep brown deck. Boys finished tying the sails and slid down the ladders to sit and chat in small groups. Harold stood with the wheel in his hands and his cap cocked sideways, a cigar fogging from his mouth. At the bowsprit, America and Australia stood with the first mate and hooked their arms around the balcony. Australia animatedly weaved a tale of his past pirating days, illustrating crashing seas, bawdy engagements, and dipping his toes in high danger. The two to his sides were entranced and applauded him at the finish, eagerly asking him questions about the sea. America didn't trash his heroic convictions, however, and continued to scald the practice save for all its excitement.

The boys began to banter among the laughter of the first mate, but during the altercation a yell of alarm emerged from the crow's nest.

Silence encased the ship bringing an air of uneasiness with it. The deck echoed with shipmates' screams of, "Pirates!"

America's heart plummeted.

"Pirates?" America shrieked in shock. Icy blood coursed through his veins. Feeling the tingle urgently biting at his fingertips, he hastily grappled the handle of his sword. Australia smacked it, dislodging it from the sword, and before America could say a word, aggressively grabbed it.

"America, don't," Australia whispered urgently, rushing him to the brig. "If we want to stand a chance, there are two things we need to be careful of." Their boots clacked together as they descended the wooden stairs. Carrie whinnied happily when the knights approached, but was quickly hushed by the alarmed pair.

"Two?"

"Put on your armor. Don't get injured, and do _not _use all of your strength. We can't let anyone know we're knights," Australia shuffled the leather shoulder pads over his shoulders.

"R-right…" America mumbled shakily, equipping his own armor.

The ship shook with the booming blasts of cannons from above, the shocked silence turning into panicked noise.

Feet pounded against the deck, shouts barraged the salty air, and guns and swords were raised in preparation.

Australia beckoned the fearful knight to the staircase, only to emerge to rowdy, foreign barks and bellows barging their way onto the ship.

Metal clashed as the shipmates charged at the pirates who boarded the ship. Swords swung in the air, slicing hair and stabbing flesh in rugged swoops and thrusts. War cries emitted from either side, calling hungrily for blood. Never had America seen such graceless, merciless fighting. His friend extracted his sword without hesitation and wordlessly bounded into the action, among blood of friend and foe, pushing back the pirates. Hisses, cries, pained moans blistered under the sun. Paralyzed with fear, America was merely a post himself, doomed to stand and watch. The enemy spread and advanced, leaping behind barrels and sneaking up ladders. Suddenly, behind the frozen knight, a thump rumbled the ground below. America slowly, nervously unsheathed his own sword, and swiveled on his heel.

No one was there.

He gripped his sword so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

Turning around again to check his surroundings, America brought his sword to his face, and from behind, leather armor was sliced.

America was shot with adrenaline. Swiftly, he twirled around, met the face of his attacker and cut his stomach with a yelp.

The pirate screamed and fell to his knees. Blood dripped from America's sword.

A hand flew to the knight's mouth, seeing what lay in front of him. Crimson liquid began to flow across the deck.

America ran.

His breathing was shallow, his vision was blurry, and his body was numb as he climbed into the brig and slammed the bars behind him.

Hollers and screams echoed at the top of the staircase, but America hid himself from their intimidating presence, from the call of death. His fists shook, and he stared down at them, unable to think.

Crash. Clink. Bang. Thud.

He blinked hard.

Then the thoughts came, storming and flooding his head like a hurricane.

'I just killed someone. I just took a life. There is blood on my hands. I'm a failure. I can't even protect my best friend because I'm afraid… I'm afraid… Oh Lord, I just killed someone. I'm so afraid…'

Just what kind of hero was he?

He lifted his head in revelation.

'That's right,' he thought with a gasp. 'How can I be scared now! Am I forgetting everything I've been training for? Everything I am!'

He stood up.

'That's right! I am America, future Ace of Spades,' he thought as he ascended the staircase with a determined smile. 'I'm the best! I won't lose here!'

He drew his sword. It hadn't had its last taste of flesh.

His boots hit the deck and found a once evenly matched army of pirates now clearly outnumbering the inexperienced fighters of the cargo ship. Smoke filled the air, fire present on both ships. Harold was tied up to the main mast and the last of the crew was having their blood spilled on the deck. The captain of the pirate ship screamed in triumph, manning the wheel as his cronies enthusiastically stole the lives of the mariners. America bit his tongue as he searched for Australia, who was nowhere in sight.

He was alone.

Mustering his courage once again, he charged into the onslaught of pirates, hitting anything that looked threatening with the handle of his sword. With a burst of adrenaline, he climbed the forecastle and bellowed, "Not so fast!"

Waves of navy fabric washed away with an abrupt turn.

There, to America's dread, stood a man of pale complexion and red eyes.

"Oh, hello there, _junge_," he drawled, glowering at the young knight with a grin on his face, "I thought you would never show up." He narrowed his eyes menacingly.

America's breath became shallow with every quickened heartbeat. Fury and fear poisoned his body and he began to growl in shock and pain.

"You."

"Hm, that doesn't sound very welcoming," the paler cackled, drawing his sword. America defensively gripped his own, swallowing the bile in his mouth.

"You're the…" America began, his eyes glowing with fear, but he was cut off by the pirate's blade.

It was solid, perfectly solid to the touch. From each side of America's torso, that is. The middle of the sword passed through him, as if it were an apparition, impossible to feel and leaving no wound.

The desired reaction came for the captain when America screamed. He closed his eyes and sighed, soaking in the harmonious, relieving sound of fear.

Feeling nourished, he extracted the sword.

It was bloodless.

"What did you do to me?" America roared in horror, "I'll kill you!" He drew his sword and rushed at the captain. With the flick of his wrist, he deflected the impulsive shot, obviously a swordsman of higher caliber and composure than his foe.

"Ah, yes, well," the man tilted his head to the side, "I'd return the sentiment, but in honesty, today is not the day." He snapped his fingers, and in an instant his entire body disappeared. All that was left was his face, which floated eerily in the air, sending America back two inches gripping his sword for dear life.

"Not yet," the face whispered with a devilish grin and, with a loud cackle, it dissolved as soon as the knight feebly swung his sword through the air it occupied.

The Joker was gone as soon as he came.

And so was the person that steered the ship.

Storm of rage calming, America's mind began to flood with alarm. His eyes and feet darted to the wheel. However, the ship was veering out of control, and took down all of the able-bodied men on it. America's chest hit the deck, and air escaped from his lungs. He fought to regain his balance, but he felt a slight pressure on his back keeping him grounded. He began to fight, flailing wildly, but from above came a light laugh.

"Did you hear the explosion?" Australia called from above. America stopped struggling, winded.

"What? Where? What's happen-"

A jolt. A shake. Moans from the ship and sliding bodies. Rocks dug their sharp, unrelenting fingers into the hull. Suddenly, the sea began to eat the back of the ship. The middle began to splinter, tearing the mainmast straight in half and taking Harold down with it to his doom.

Australia whipped around, jumping from America's back as the front half of the ship jerked forward into a concave of moss covered rock. He watched, his heart beating forty miles a minute, as the rudder sank into the ocean, taking the hold with it.

'Taking the horses and the bags.' Australia straightened. Rashly, he jumped to the sinking rubble, breathless and on a mission.

"Australia, what the hell are you doing?" America screamed after his friend, but Australia ignored him and, yelling as loud as he could, called out, "Get to the cockboat and pull up by the afterward! Now!"

America stood up, the front of the ship stabling as it finally collapsed from exhaustion, the bottom punctured by rocks. Perplexed, he lifted the lifeboat with ease and tossed it into the water. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back a bit. Then, the knight lunged forward and jumped over the edge of the fragmented ship. Salty sea splashed around the tiny wooden vessel in retaliation, but America paid this disturbance no mind, quickly reaching for the nearest paddle.

Australia slid down the staircase just as water began to trickle into the quickly sinking ship. The horses whinnied in fear, pleading as their savior rocketed over to them and began to fumble with their reins. Time ticked and the water began rising, quickly coming up to his ankles, and, by the time he loosened both knots, mid calf. Taking sharp breaths, he tossed the bags over his shoulder. Only able to move one horse up the stairs at a time, Australia began to lead Carrie up the staircase. He ushered the horse to the steepening deck, spotting America paddling forcefully in the water.

"Carrie!" he called. "How are you going to get her down here?"

"Coax her to jump!" Australia replied, throwing the bags skillfully into the boat. He then disappeared under the deck again, garnering a sigh from his partner.

"Come here, baby girl," America cooed to his horse, listening to her whimpers as she began to lose her footing on the sinking deck. "I'm right here, I've got you, just jump in the water and swim to me."

The horse was immobile, beginning to slide down the edge of the ship.

"Carrie, please!" America cried one last time, desperate.

The golden-haired horse seemed to understand and jumped rather clumsily into the water.

"Yes!" America called excitedly. "Now let's get to shore!"

His friend emerged once more from the hold with the reins of his horse, and, noticing how little time he had left, dived headfirst into the water.

Bartholomew and Carrie panted as they swam, coming closer to the boat by the persuasion of their master. Australia himself found his way into the little ship, draping himself over the side. Realizing that they were unable to accommodate two horses in the boat, America encouraged the mare and stallion to swim as fast as they could to reach the nearby cove.

Reach it they did and within minutes. Sand squished under the pressure of the little boat and its cargo, which climbed out to examine the terrain that welcomed it.

The loud rumble and splash of the boat's final descent echoed behind them.

Cliffs scraped the edge of the beach, towering above them presently, looking positively frightening and impossible to scale. Upon that rigid ground laid a forest. An expansive forest.

Quickly, Australia pulled out the map. Despite the small water damage, he was able to locate their position near the Northern Forest, the same forest that harbored two of the three exes on the list.

A grin spread on his face.

Fate had intervened.

The right track was now set and ready to be followed.

* * *

**End Chapter 4.**

* * *

_A/N:_

I'm sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've been on vacations~

_Small random note: I seriously thought about naming the horses Carrie and Bradshaw, but I thought that joke might be lost on you guys. If I did, would you guys appreciate that?_

_This chapter is _very long_, I apologize, but the blonde girl in the beginning does mean something, which is why she has a name. I should just clear up right now that _anyone with a name is important to the story in some way.

_Won't be seeing England for a while? Did I say that? _

_Please review, guys. Dis be my sad face at sight of no reviews. D:_

_I know there's no dramatic romance yet, but… Nah, I'm not spoiling a thing. Stay tuned, though!_


	5. 5 Dragons

**Knight**

**5**

The midmorning sun filtered gently through the curtained window, sheathing the marble walls in its light. While they and the blue and purple fabrics of the Spades seemed to revel in it, the person under the covers merely pulled them higher above her head and huffed.

"Too early," she moaned, "It is much too early for this nonsense."

Realizing that 'this nonsense' meant the sunshine, the insulted sun hid sulkily behind a cloud. Contented with the change, the maiden arose, her silky blue nightgown rolling into her ankles. She pulled open the tall navy door of her bedroom and descended the staircase, as marble and Spade-adorned as the rest of her little castle. She ducked almost sneakily into the nearby powder room. The girl slipped into the vanity mirror and, without looking at her face, began to unbutton her dress and unlace her underwear. Her hands flew to her chest, groping for any small bit of fat, any bump, any slight change in her breasts, but to no avail. She stared into the mirror forlornly.

"Damn," she muttered, "I'm still flat."

Lace ribbons twisted back up securely, and pearl buttons slipped back through their loops. A small pair of scissors was lifted from the drawer, and, very carefully, nipped at the fringe on neck and temple. Finally, she was forced to look at herself in the mirror and pursed her lips.

Those eyebrows. She couldn't help but inspect them every time. She speculated as to why her eyebrows were modeled after her father's and not her mother's and as to why God would curse a princess with such a genetic deformity. She was supposed to be dainty and beautiful and effeminate, but she was born boxy and awkward and… masculine. Her dearest mother, the Queen, did her very best to fashion her into a fit princess. She taught her proper etiquette, the way to serve tea, how to sew and needlepoint and chat idly with other nobility. She trained the princess how to treat men and to treat servants, to tie corsets, to walk properly in high-heeled shoes. She groomed and primped and polished her into the most elegant lady she could, and the princess followed these teachings methodically, being the only way she knew how to live.

But the princess was more than that. She was romanced by the world of books, craving the crashing seas, the bustling jungle, and the adventure that lay outside the castle walls. The forest was the thing that tempted her the most. It sat there, right outside, just aching to be explored. However, with the fire-breathing dragon that sharpened its teeth with her doorframe, escape seemed impossible.

That is, until she began to train.

Archery was very difficult at first. Her windows were very small, and the part she could open was even tinier, but that just made the training that much more successful and the princess that much more determined. Every shot from the first bow was terrible. The first bow itself was terrible too, a tightly strung thread on a wooden spoon. But over months of practice, her skills began to show themselves, and finally, one damp summer night she pulled back the bowstring and her arrow flew through the window and point blank towards the tree across the clearing.

Thunk!

The princess shot up. She ran to the window excitedly, and there it was, arrowhead buried deep into the trunk.

She cheered loudly and jumped for joy, and has been an ace shot ever since.

Realizing she may yet be able to rescue herself from the prison her mother had confined her to, she began to carve herself a much nicer bow out of a piece of firewood laying around in the cellar. It took hours a day, but she had time to spare. After all, she hadn't had a visitor for years now.

The thought bouncing back to her made her stomp down the ever-winding steps into the cellar. She grabbed a piece of glass that lay on one of the many stacked crates and maneuvered her way behind the boxes to the firewood. There, she took up a large, finely whittled piece of wood that nearly looked as if it could pass for a half of a bow, besides the fact that it was still imprinted in the log. The princess didn't even bother going back to the crate to seat herself as a lady would, but plopped down on the cold gray stone with a huff and began cutting furiously.

She hadn't known why her mother had stopped visiting. She didn't understand what kept her half-brothers from showing up from time to time. They knew the way. If something had happened to the Queen, as the princess had first worried, they surely would have been sent to notify her.

She suspected early on that she wasn't imprisoned in this tower to keep her safe from the other Kingdoms, and as she matured she was faced with the cold, lonely truth. Was it her gruff voice and despondent demeanor? Was it the stingy way in which she reminded her brothers to straighten their ties or flatten their vests? Perhaps it was the deep rift of difference between her and the rest of her family, the rest of the Card Kingdom. It didn't even matter, for any reason they pleased or no reason at all, it was always in their power do away with an unruly, detested member of the monarchy. Perhaps in earlier years they were not ready to give up on her, convinced that they could reform that all too belligerent girl. But soon, it was as obvious as the green of her eyes that England could not be changed, and that her family hated her, was disgraced by her, and eventually, disowned her.

It was the only explanation for their disappearance.

If that was the case, she was no longer bound by God to heed her mother's orders. She whittled more forcefully. She could break free of the confines of the castle and live alone, like she wanted. She cared for no one, as no one cared for her.

All the love she needed existed in her books.

But even though she thought that, her carving slowed and her chest ached painfully at the thought. Loneliness choked her with its unrelenting hands, as it always had, and always would. A tear ran down the bridge of her nose and landed on the yellow skin of the bow.

England continued carving.

* * *

The seagulls sung and the horses spoke about the mediocrity of the performers under their breath. Waves crashed on the rocky beach, sputtering sea foam. Leaning upon a large, daunting wall of boulders, a young knight attempted to catch his breath, the excitement of what just occurred still blasting adrenaline throughout his body. He sipped from his canteen of water, breathing shallowly, and ran his hand through his honey colored hair.

Tumbling pebbles crackled together as Australia slid down them, treading carefully on the steep rocky path. The brunette dusted off his shirt as he walked the five minutes it took to get back to the cove in which his friend was watching the animals.

"Alright, so I found a relatively safe way up this cliff," he called, approaching the boulder mound. America rocked his head towards his friend.

"Just up this hill here," Australia pointed to a rock-covered sand dune behind them that fermented into a climbable slope on the cliff. Grassy ferns hung off of the sides lazily, providing a sort of rope to hold steady with. America shrugged and clambered to his feet, beckoning to his untied horses.

The situation was an uphill battle, as they say, but this was truthfully a pair going up hill. The rugged terrain was not making their job any easier, and neither was the load of emotional baggage that they had picked up on the way out as if they were bellhops and not knights.

America had killed a man. Australia had lost a friend. With the intensity of these facts, the silence was impenetrable.

At the top, America did prompt his friend for a nearby spring, but the other knight denied having seen any freshwater so far. He stroked Carrie's nose apologetically, but did not utter a word more.

The cliff was where the world seemed to taper off, where the land decided to quit expanding. Before that lay a dense, musical forest whose breaths were slow and deep, as if always asleep. It was dimly lit and comfortably cool, soothing. Creatures darted between the trees; branches crisscrossed over the sky. Boots crunched many a branch and pinecone, shuffling through the rocky temperate forest. It was a dance lacking quite a bit of elegance with the horses sliding on the steeper parts, America falling more than once, and Australia stepping on a squirrel. What made the experience very bad was the fact that in the untrodden terrain, Australia could barely tell where they were going, if it was distinguishable at all.

He groaned loudly when the two reached yet another rock-riddled impassable hill. The younger knight laughed, and they were finally able to shatter the wall of tension between them. The land began to flatten out a bit and the thick mist of the sea dissipated, leaving acres and acres of greenery. Soft and bold colors alike splashed all over the bushes and trees, and the chirps of the birds and bugs echoed through the forest.

America, bored by the lack of activity, decided to join the symphony. Loudly. And badly.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!"

"America…"

"He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored!" He continued to sing.

"America!" Australia growled.

"He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword! His truth is marching on!"

"SHUT UP!" Australia shouted.

It was silent for five seconds as the knights just stared at each other. Then the forest erupted with their laughter, and the horses just shook their heads.

"You'd rather me sing 'Git Along Little Dogies'?" America chuckled, ignoring Australia's very vocal protests as he kicked a clump of moss from his boot.

"As I went a-walkin' one mornin' for pleasure," America sang, but he was soon joined by Australia chanting a very different tune.

"It being in spring when the small birds sing, and the lambs do sport and play!"

"What the-" America whipped his head towards his friend, who merely smirked and sang louder.

"I entered as a passenger, to New South Wales sailed o'er!" Australia trilled, but America wasn't ready to back down from the challenge.

He took a deep breath and belted, "I spied a cowpuncher come ridin' along!"

"And I'll bid farewell to all that dwell!"

"His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a-jinglin', and as he approached he was singin' this song!"

"And the girls of Shamrock shore!"

The battle raged on, the metal of their voices clashing like swords and their throats going dry. Neither boy paid attention when the horses halted, neighing loudly at the approaching smoke. Neither knight saw the long marble tower clambering towards the sun in the distance directly in front of them. And only when the roar of the dragon broke the competition like a third combatant, blade drawn and incredibly hostile did a knight react.

Australia stopped immediately, quieting and slowly unsheathing his sword. America, however, was oblivious to the upcoming danger and hadn't even opened his eyes at Australia's sudden forfeit. He knew it would happen anyhow. Who could beat him at… well, anything?

He laughed even louder at the arrogant thought, continuing his song as he stepped into the older knight's outstretched arm and an urgent hush.

Naïve blue eyes drifted towards pressing brown in confusion. Smoke jet into the air with the cracking thunder of an inhuman creature.

It was loud. It was vicious. And it was disturbed.

America's heart began to quake with the ground as he instinctively palmed his belt for the handle of his sword.

The knights dropped the reins of their horses, whispering comfort to each as they tied them to a low nearby branch. Carrie and Bartholomew could only wait and tremble in anxiety as they watched their human partners walk cautiously towards their death.

The smoke was more or less lenient despite how unknowingly close the boys were to its producer. Only now, being licked by the ashy air did America notice the tower before him. In the treeless sphere of overgrown grass, blossoms of ivy and moss delimited the large skyward marble tower. America circled its diameter, looking for an entrance of any kind.

No luck.

He groaned and kicked the wall, less frustrated than he was moping.

"What the heck, what is this, Rapunzel?"

He rolled his hand over the smooth wall, focusing on some type of blemish, some corrosion in its structure, but no earlier than did he find something did a warm rush of black air hit the knight's neck.

He froze.

America's lungs went dry and the sunlight fled from his person as he was overtaken by a large intimidating shadow. In absolute terror, he snuck a glance behind him to instill the fear so deep in his veins that adrenaline bit at his fingertips like frostbite.

He went cold. Standing face to face with him was the largest beast he'd ever seen.

"Dragon," he whispered voicelessly.

Australia's shouts were drowned out by the booming howl of the dragon, who emitted a storm of fire right in the faces of the knights.

* * *

The princess rolled back her neck and let out a deep sigh. She'd been immersed in hours of carving, eating from one of the few cans of preservatives left in the cellar. She was determined to finish the bow, the curves now sticking out of the log.

Her thoughts had also fled in terror with every furious cut, but now that England had quit carving, the thoughts fluttered back and peppered her mind.

Being alone wasn't terrible. She'd been alone for years.

And besides, she still had friends. Like… well, certainly not France, nor Germany, and god forbid running into Spain. Italy was a nice enough chap, but he was so stupid and weak and annoying that it was terribly hard to get along with him. Her own kingdom wasn't much better either: as she remembered it, everyone there was not too keen on her. In fact, she was sure ninety percent of the kingdom hated her and the other ten percent didn't even know who she was. She shook her head and scoffed. Even though she was used to being at odds with everyone, the pain and annoyance and exasperation was still fresh. But she always knew that she could find relief when she ran home because she would be embraced by small arms and admired with wide innocent eyes.

Her heart swelled when she thought back to the blue-sky days that smelled of sunshine and tasted of sweets and teas and fruits, which she could only fathom was the flavor of love. Never had she laughed like she laughed with that adorable orphan, nor cried, shared, held, or loved. She couldn't imagine a world in which she never ran across the child, because frankly, America was the best thing to ever happen to her_. _Her dearly beloved America.

England sighed happily.

The princess sat up straight.

America!

Of course!

Now he was all she could think about. What he looked like, where he was, what he was doing. Had he been kicked out of the castle like England? Did they have him take her place? Did he still live in the Spades Kingdom? Was he even alive? Had that brilliant blue spark in his eyes faded with the years? Did he still speak proper English? Did he remember how to make tea? What if he was really sexy?

She laughed at that thought. Wouldn't _that_ be an awkward reunion.

At any rate, America was the beacon of light in an otherwise desolate land of solitude. Suddenly, England wanted to gather him in her arms and litter him with kisses, telling him that everything would be OK and the regime couldn't hurt him anymore.

If he was still stuck in that treacherous castle, England had no choice but to bust him out. Being older, stronger, and smarter, she knew that it was her duty to do the fighting for him. And besides, she had a brand new bow.

She grasped the curve of the limb and wrenched it out of the wood. The lid of the crate next to her clattered to the floor. From the box underneath, she produced a small tin of beeswax, a thin string of linen, and another similar perfectly carved limb of wood. Quickly, she lathered the newly carved half with wax. She then untied the ribbon around the neck of her gown. The first waxy half went between her legs, and the second placed rather awkwardly on top of it as she used her left hand to bind the halves of the bow together.

The musk of freshly chopped wood huddled around the princess, who wiped her waxy hands on her nightgown then smiled proudly and grabbed the silky handle of the bow.

"Well, it isn't of Holmegaard quality, but this… this may do," England glowed with pride. "I think it's high time I left this tower, don't you think?"

England laughed to herself as she pulled the thread of linen from the top of the bow to the end. Finally, finally, the labor of years was finished.

"Well, let's get a move on, I have a child to save!" she cried, the cellar echoing with her deep, silky voice as she ran up the stairs.

But the roar of the dragon and the tremor of voices knocked her back down, frightened and stunned.

She rocketed to her bedroom, jumping up on her desk to look out the window. Craning her neck, England was able to flick across the smoldering grass and in horror and awe; her emerald eyes scanned the battle.

The dragon's dark scales shone in the sun and shrouded the field in angry huffing smoke. It clawed at a blue clad figure, blurred by movement. He slid to the ground, avoiding the claw, and crawled under the dragon stealthily. She bit her tongue, watching tensely as the man stabbed his sword upward into the dragon, making it cry in pain and angrily spout flames. The final blow was upon them. England was at the edge of her desk as the second man jumped up to almost inhuman heights and sent silver whirring through the air.

The dragon fell to the ground, its neck slit and blood and smoke casing the vicinity. The two men coughed and waved their hands to part the choking air, while England put her hands to her heart to keep from suffocating from exhilaration.

She slid down the cold marble wall, regaining her breath as she recalled what she just witnessed.

"Oh God, oh my, am I being…?"

She almost fainted from the realization. She never thought it would happen. Her nerves shackled her to the desk.

Unfamiliar voices resounded in her stairwell. Clicks of boots grew louder and louder. England could only sit and watch, unable to regain breath.

The door gently pushed open.

"Your majesty?"

* * *

**End Chapter 5.**

* * *

_A/N: **My tumblr is up! Go ahead and check it out, the link is on my profile page.** The introductory post says everything you need to know concerning the fics. Under the tag 'first post'. Please read it if you plan on visiting!_

_About England's pronoun being feminine, as far as everyone in the story is concerned England is a girl, including England himself. If we had no previous knowledge of England's actual gender and read this story, we'd think he was a girl too._

_Also, small note about the Holmegaard reference: A Holmegaard bow is a very efficient bow that sends arrows flying fast and far. Google it if you'd like to see a picture of one. __You should think of England's bow to look more like this than an English longbow. Even though I had originally planned for it to look like a longbow, I didn't figure you'd be able to make one from a log of firewood._

_Last note! Those songs Australia and America were singing? 'Battle Hymn of the Republic', 'Girls of the Shamrock Shore', and 'Git Along Little Dogies'._

_ Until very soon, ciao bellas! ~Sam_


	6. 6 Hello

**Knight**

**6.**

He was absolutely gorgeous.

Honey colored hair and cobalt blue eyes never complimented each other so perfectly. Beautiful for spacious skies and amber waves of grain, indeed. He had a firm, muscular body, and even splashed with dragon blood, maybe even especially since he was covered in dragon blood, he looked as if he could hold his own and then some.

England could only stare.

The handsome boy in the doorway cleared his throat uncomfortably, making the princess blush comprehensively and look away.

"I… um, you are the Princess of Spades, right?" he asked cautiously, his gaze fixated on England.

"Ah, yes," she stammered, snapping out of her daze. She stood up as straight as her back would allow and curtsied deeply. "I am she, the most honorable England, Princess of Spades." She looked up into the boy's smiling eyes and smiled slightly herself. "I'm sorry, am I amusing you? I'm not used to introducing myself."

"No it's… I'm the hero who's come to save you!" The boy grinned brightly.

England snapped up.

"What?" She asked, befuddled.

"Well," He said, leaning against the doorframe, "We've just been on some adventure trying to find you, Princess. I wasn't too excited about running across the entire country, but imagine that we found you totally by accident!" That infectiously dazzling smile was beginning to get to England.

"Well, smiles, I have to ask," she interrupted with a smirk.

"Did you just call me 'smiles'?" He arched an eyebrow at the princess, earning a scoff from her.

"Why have you been looking for me?" She leant back on the desk and crossed her legs, a haughty look crawling across her face. "You hardly look fit to be a knight under the approval of my mother."

She wasn't just being obtuse. The boy in the doorway seemed nothing more than just that: a boy. A child. The monarchy she knew would never allow a child to set out on a long, perilous journey through the Northern Forest.

These infamous woods stole many a life by the hands of bandits, dragons, and frequently, unexplainable occurrences. It was unthinkable.

The boy's face fell into a rather harsh, grim expression.

"I come by royal order of the Ace of Spades. Your mother passed away five years ago."

A sharp breath through the nose.

A frantic analysis of the knight's features searching for some indication that he was playing a cruel joke.

A hysterical crumble into the floor, never breaking eye contact with the knight. Focusing on that color, that never-ending blue like the sky above, but so vastly different… it removed her from her mortality.

"P-passed?" She managed to stammer, her eyes spilling over.

America just swallowed deeply and looked away, ripping the line keeping England from accepting the truth. The princess fell, unable to escape from crashing into the oncoming wave of emotion.

"My God why have you abandoned me?" She wept into her hands, inconsolably guilt-ridden. Her heart went cold, but her mind set on fire. She felt cheated, unfairly dealt. What kind of sick irony was this, that a minute ago she was so ready to denounce her mother but now all she wanted was to have her by her side one last time?

The misery was overbearing, piling higher and higher on top of her; suffocating her. She couldn't take any more of it.

Suddenly, England jerked up. Throwing her superfluous feelings at the knight, she spat, "Who are you? I demand to know!"

The glare was returned with a bite of the tongue from the boy mere meters away, but seemed worlds apart. That foreigner was threatening everything England clung on to all these years. England was starting to wonder if she had become completely detached from the monarchy, if everything had changed, and the worm of disturbance crept into her mind as she realized that she had no way of knowing.

She was outcast from her world.

America saw this distraught state England was in, and the condescending, almost disgusted way she had acted before. She was nothing like the England America had been clinging on to all of these years. Were those days together with England all a hoax? A façade? Had he been lied to his whole life, or was he just painting England into this beautiful picture when the model was ugly all along?

He would find out.

England needed something to bind her back to her former life which was running farther and farther away each second, never to return.

America wasn't about to be that bond.

"My name is Alfred F. Jones, First Class Knight of the First Division," he said, moving to look her straight in the eye.

England seemed to choke on the words.

"Only… only countries can be knights!" England exclaimed at the knight's blue stare, "Only descendants of Cards, only the chosen of the deck… What is happening?"

Why were her questions cracking from hysteria? Where was that calm demeanor, that overwhelming ability to stay collected no matter what was happening? Did America dissolve England's composure when he told her about the queen?

It was only a guess.

"Your Highness," America knelt next to the princess. "I know this isn't easy and that you're still pretty shaken up, but I have orders directly from the throne to collect you and return you to the castle. So if you could just-"

"Why should I come with you? I hardly believe it took you five years of searching to find me!"

"Hey, listen, I'm just doing my duty! This is for the sake of the Kingdom of Spades!" He insisted.

"Well the Kingdom sure didn't seem to give a damn about me until now!" England yelled.

The knight next to her just smiled bitterly and shook his head. "You know, you are nothing like I remember."

A confused England turned her head to look at him. "Pardon, but where do you know me from?"

"…Servant's child." America lied again. "I'm just…. Surprised is all."

But then again, why was he? This was the same England that scorned him for taking baths for too long, that yelled at him when he questioned her cooking, that glared whenever he talked to France (before he was old enough to know about the murder, of course). He knew that ridiculous face she made when she was peeved, he knew that she was bitter and stingy, but the love that she showered on him made all of that irrelevant. America had never been loved before, so even though that love belonged to a disagreeable Brit, America cherished it completely.

But now…

They'd been apart so long they'd become complete strangers.

The thought of such unbreakable love between them now was just laughable.

Honestly.

"Why are you laughing?" England asked.

"Because even though you are way more annoying than I remember, there are some things that never change!" the knight cackled. England was taken aback.

Never had anyone spoken to her so judgmentally, much less a complete stranger, and she was absolutely appalled.

"Now you listen here! Do not ever speak to me in that manner again, you peasant!" She fumed, "If you even fathom insulting me and reminiscing on whatever memory of me that you remember dearly but I somehow seem unable to recall, the punishment of the crown will be swift and painful!"

"Are you calling me a liar?" It was America's turn to be offended. He knew exactly what he was talking about. How was it that England couldn't recognize her own family; recall her own memories? It was absurd! Just thinking about their current situation infuriated him.

"Not to burst your bubble, princess," America seethed, "But if you even want to stand a chance in these woods, I'm the fucking crown now."

"I will not be treated this way, and by a petty servant, no less!" England shot.

"I am a highly regarded knight," America gasped.

"And I am so charmed to be in your presence, so impressed, indeed," Venom dripped from England's tongue. "I refuse to go with you! You are positively insufferable and I can't even stomach that poor excuse for English that you're spouting!"

"Baby, you don't have a choice," America sneered, "I was instructed to bring you to the Palace to marry the Ace and make a Queen out of you, and I fully intend to do that whether or not you're willing to go."

"Are you _threatening_ me?"

"What's it gonna be, princess?"

There was a small pause as the two glowered at each other.

"I was told when I was young," England snarled, "that I was to marry the knight that saved me. If the Ace would like to marry me, then you can give him directions and tell him I'll be waiting for him."

The knight chuckled darkly and clicked his tongue in frustration, "Honey, you're making this a hell of a lot harder than it has to be. You're coming back to the castle with us, whether you like it or not. So are you gonna walk out, or am I gonna have to carry you?"

"You wouldn't dare."

* * *

Australia raised an eyebrow to the peeved knight and the kicking and screaming draped over his shoulder.

"Unhand me this instant, you brute! You overbearing arrogant little shit! The minute I step into the palace, I'll see to it that you're locked in my dungeon! I hate you, I hate you! Put me down!"

"Um, Am-"

"Don't ask," America grumbled, somehow being heard over the angry hollering beating into his back.

"Did you gather what you could from the cellar?"

"There wasn't much, but I got the rest of it," Australia smiled and held up the two navy backpacks, full to the brim with preserves.

"What now, you're stealing from me too? I can't wait to see how great your face looks behind bars!"

"Ignore her," America grumbled to Australia, who slung the packs over his shoulder and led the disgruntled pair to the opening America had plowed through with the end of his sword. The stones lay heavily in disarray, broken and white.

No sooner than had they crossed halfway through the smoky clearing did a very exasperated America groan, "Shit. She needs clothes."

Australia offered to retrieve them, but the princess immediately interjected. "No, no, the least this one can do is allow me to choose my own clothes."

"Absolutely not." America coughed.

"It's an order." England declared, shooting a glare as far behind her as she could turn.

America said nothing and did not move, but he continued to keep a firm hold around the princess's middle. She sighed in displeasure, and her shoulders dropped in defeat.

"…I give you my word, on the King's honor, I will not run away." England swore.

America pondered this.

At last, he said, "…Fine. Five minutes. Count to sixty if you have to, but if you aren't back here by then, I'm coming to get you."

He then released the princess to watch her dash away and disappear into the smoke.

* * *

She quickly ascended the marble staircase.

"He's awful, just insufferable!"

The door slammed hard behind her.

"And to think I have to spend who knows how long with that, that slimeball, that wanker!"

The princess continued to complain as she dressed herself, tossing the nightgown to the ground and tying her corset tightly. She whimpered self-deprecatingly at her now somewhat subdued masculine figure. The forest-green fabric of the dress billowed around England as it slid comfortably onto her body. England then began rummaging around in her wardrobe looking for a pair of shoes.

She knew she had to have just one pair of shoes.

It's not like she'd grown in the past five years, she would fit into them.

Clothes began blanketing the floor like freshly fallen snow. She pulled out every drawer. She crawled under her bed and checked under her desk.

There had to be one pair.

* * *

America tapped his foot impatiently just outside of the clearing.

Australia chewed nonchalantly on a handful of nuts.

"What the hell is taking her so long?" America groaned.

"Calm down, America," Australia said, leaning against a tree. "England's capable of handling herself."

"That's not the point."

"You two seem to have completely gotten off on the wrong foot," Australia returned. "I'm not sure if I can deal with nearly three weeks of this on our way back to the Capital."

"This is the way she wants to be. It's fine, you know what, this way I'll get to see her true colors." America mumbled, sucking his tongue against his teeth.

"America-" Australia started.

"And call me Alfred from now on, I want to keep my identity a secret from her."

Australia almost asked as to why, but found it useless to argue with the headstrong boy. He shrugged and continued to eat his nuts.

* * *

"There they are." England sighed in relief. Lying casually on the cellar floor was a pair of lightly used shoes. England slid into them, tapping her toe on the ground. The stony walls echoed, calling out to England, begging her to stay. Quickly, she grabbed her bow and a jar she'd been using as a quiver. Her hand lagged behind, running softly over the wall as she darted up the staircase and out into the cloud of ash.

She no longer remembered what direction she was headed in. Her eyes watered from the smoke, which billowed forth from the dragon corpse, seemingly endless. England fruitlessly waved her hands in the air to stray the smoke from her face, and began to walk forward, sure if she exited the clearing at least, she may be able to locate her 'rescuers'.

But then again, why should she go back to that tart Alfred? If she was asked, she'd much rather take a piss on him than go anywhere with the knight.

However, she had given her word for her pseudo freedom, and she would never go back on the King.

All of those thoughts were rendered useless, though, as a figure quickly approached her and before she could even make out a golden hair, flung her across his shoulder again.

"God damn it, Alfred! Put me down!" She beat on his back indignantly.

"No. You took too long, we had a deal."

"I was headed back, you arse, didn't you just see me outside?"

"It's filled with smoke, England. I can barely breathe, much less see," America wasn't lying, but he had seen England. Headed in the opposite direction.

"Well Alfred, if you'd use your brain, perhaps," England bristled.

"Look, I'm sorry," America declared, "What did you expect me to think happened? You kind of hate me."

"I swore on the King," England huffed. "You of all people should know that one would never go back on that promise, Mr. 'Highly Regarded Knight'."

America sighed, the clearing and the tower now behind them. The smoke's slithering arms began to extend into the forest, wrapping eagerly around the moss-covered trees.

"Hopefully that smoke stops soon," America whispered worriedly, the words not falling short of England's ears.

Could he have been hoping for the safety of the forest?

'A bastard like him couldn't possibly care about my forest.' England concluded, turning her head dismissively.

Suddenly, she felt her weight being shifted.

'Is that mistake of a knight letting me down?' she hoped.

Her bottom made contact with soft leather, however, and her hope was dashed. She now towered over her incessant rescuer, who stepped back and released England from his grasp.

England was not new to horses, but she hadn't ridden one in nearly ten years. Against her will, she found herself wishing for the knight's hands around her once more.

The aforementioned mounted the animal as well, sliding gracefully onto the saddle right in front of the princess.

"You might want to hold on," he said, and England unhappily followed his suggestion, linking her arms loosely around his middle.

Australia nodded to America after untying and mounting his own horse, and the two simultaneously snapped the reins.

Then the horses began to run.

America felt the loop around his stomach tighten to almost deathly proportions, squeezing the laugh out of his diaphragm. The wind slipped between the strands of their hair, taking the scent of the woods and the aftertaste of smoke with it.

Everything seemed to whiz past, the speed overwhelming the Brit, who'd begrudgingly clung to the knight sitting in front of her and closed her eyes, opting to feel the fabric on his back on her face instead of the violent air.

Australia just smirked and shook his head at America, who shrugged innocently.

"I think I've had my fun," he said to both Australia and England, and slowed the horse to a stroll.

"Had your_ fun_? You just did that to frighten me, didn't you?" England accused, clutching America's back angrily.

"Not necessarily. Maybe I did it to get away from the smoke that was bothering the horses, hm?" He smiled. "No need to badger me, England, I wouldn't try to put you in danger. As a knight and a hero, I'm justice-bound, you know."

England just grimaced and loosened her grip. He wouldn't receive the satisfaction of having her hang on to him for dear life any longer.

The blossoming leaves of spring, the wetness of the forest, the life that it held surrounded the three like energy. The same sort of essence used for spell casting, England had thought, and remembered having left behind her book of spells.

She scowled. Hopefully, she could remember them well enough without it.

The silence of her thoughts was then interrupted.

"Uh, what's this jar for, England?" America wondered, having taken it from England's hand when he sat her on his horse.

'Is he making polite conversation?' England was absolutely perplexed with the knight's sudden change of attitude.

"Uh, it holds my arrows…" England said reproachfully, "You'd have known that if you'd looked in it, you dunce."

"Speaking of, I didn't hurt your bow right?"

The shock was even further implanted. He was still talking to her? And he seemed quite unfazed by any ill meaning in England's words.

England's dazed silence, however, vexed America to nervously respond, "Oh crap, I did, didn't I? I'm sorry, I'll help you fix it if you want, even though I have no clue how to make a bow, but I can like, gather materials or something, and-"

"What's with you?"

"Hm?"

"You are being… you're… Aren't you angry o-or… anything?" England stammered, unsure of what she even wanted to ask.

"Well, unlike you, I want to make this journey bearable. If we can at least act decently towards each other then maybe we'll be able to make it to the Capital in one piece," America stated, rustling the hair of his horse. "I would like to not be killed by a pack of bandits or gnomes or whatever's killing people in these woods."

England's eyes widened slightly, taken by surprise. Perhaps this bloke was just bad at first impressions.

She still wasn't ready to trust him, much less be his friend, but she guessed if it was for the sake of her safety and her kingdom, she could at least try to put up with the chap.

Perhaps.

"Me either. Fine. I'll do my best," England huffed. "Try not to be a bloody wanker."

"Try not to be a condescending bitch," America muttered under his breath, just barely not reaching England's ears.

"What was that?" The princess accused, but the knight in front of her just shook his head and clamped a hand across his mouth.

Australia sighed.

This was going to be a long journey.

* * *

**End Chapter 6.**

* * *

_A/N:_

_Aaaaand it begins! Please R&R! And remember to watch the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony tomorrow evening! ~Sam_


	7. 7 A Little Chat

**Knight**

**7**

An orange wind swept into the lantern, lighting it with a lively fire. Its light flickered and danced upon the contours of the map as Australia tried to decipher the team's location. The ground underneath was rocky and unforgiving on his bottom, but he was out of a blanket and had to guiltily steal one of the horses' if he was to sleep peacefully tonight.  
That was if the other two would shut up first.  
Australia lent England his blanket, who promptly took it as far away from America as she could get. Despite the attempted 'peace agreement', they'd begun to argue again as soon as America criticized England's arching technique.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong."

England looked up from her target. The gold of her eyes flickered as she glanced at the water-guzzling knight sitting to her left. "I'll have you know that I read a few books on archery and have been practicing for quite a long time now."

"You need to lift your arm a little, the angle is off. Your arrows swerve a little when you shoot them." America wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Oh, and I bet at Hero Daycare they taught you all the way around a bow and arrow, eh lad?" England scoffed, gripping the bow tightly.

"Actually, yeah, I did have to take an archery course. It sucked. But I can at least remember the correct form, unlike the one with the bow here." America pointed, standing from his spot on the tree.

"Oh, then, please! Care to show me?" England gesticulated, snark underlining her every word.

"It'd be my pleasure, _your highness_."

"Am-Alfred, don't." Australia warned from his spot next to the impulsive knight. But the bull had seen red, and now America was riled up and ready for battle.

"And why does that guy Australia always say 'um' before he says your name? Are you hiding something from me, Alfred Jones, or should I even call you that?" England asked crossly.

"Speech impediment." America yanked the bow from the Briton's hands, much to her revulsion, and spat, "Now shut up and watch."

Silk settled into his hand. The bow floated upwards as he brought his hand to a ninety-degree angle at his cheek. Blue eyes narrowed at the scurrying squirrel, who'd unsuspectingly turned his back and left a perfect opportunity for America to bring him a swift demise.

All he had to do was shoot the arrow.

His wrist faltered, and he let go of the string.  
He was forced to watch with wide eyes as the arrow barreled in the complete wrong direction and stuck in the ground inches away from its target, who darted away at the sound.

And then came the worst of it.

The princess was laughing so hard that it seemed her insides would falter, but even then, as she saw it, they couldn't have failed as horribly as Alfred had at shooting a bow.

"Nice try, but why don't you just stick to swinging that sword around?"

Even Australia was chuckling at the sight.

"Dude!" America cried, betrayed.

"I told you not to, I did," He laughed.

America sucked in his cheek.  
He dropped the bow angrily and stormed off into the arms of the trees.

"Oh come off it, mate!" Australia called behind him, but America wasn't listening.

"I'm going to find water." He groused, pushing the low-lunging branches away from him in a rage.

Australia sighed, now mildly annoyed, and went back to sit next to England.

"Oh, what now, is he going to throw a fit?" England asked, looking at Australia with disbelief.

"Probably. He may be a sore loser, but he _never_ gets angry. I've only seen him angry once, and I can say from that experience that it's best he's not here." Australia drank from his canteen and passed it to the princess. "It's probably all of the stress that did it."

"Whatever, he's being a brat." England grumbled. "Just like my no-good excuses for brothers."

"Man, don't talk about your family like that," Australia criticized, looking England straight in the eye. "At least when you get home you know there's someone to go back to. I wish I could have a family."

England sipped from the canteen thankfully, and returned it to the knight, his callused hands brushing against her soft ones. "I know that one of my older brothers was caught by Diamonds after my father's murder. There are still some around in the castle?"

Australia's gaze rolled off to the side.

"Well, you see, after your dad died, there was nothing tying your half-brothers to the monarchy, so… no. I'm sorry."

"Oh… well. Well, good riddance, then," England declared with a nod, grabbing the water and taking a quick swig again before once again, returning it to a pitying Australia.

"They didn't want to leave all that bad, England." Australia assured the princess, popping the top back on the container.

"Well, _I_ wanted them to. They were absolutely awful to me since I was the heir." She said. "My father was quite the ladies' man, hm?" This line came rather wryly. "He was the pinnacle of my childhood, really. Bringing up my brothers as knights and failing to treat me like a lady, like his daughter, at all. We were just more fresh meat in warrior training camp, or whatever it is you people do to become knights. At least, that's what it felt like, if he was around at all." England turned her head. "As the king, he was always away on 'business'." She shrugged. "My brothers always acted out, so I had to be the one with their panties in a bunch, telling them to belt up and such. Sometimes I feel like my pettiness was the only thing that kept the castle sane."

"You're willing to call yourself petty?" Australia questioned.

"_I _don't happen to think it's an insult. In my opinion, everyone could take a note from me, especially those piss-poor pantyhoppers I confused for brothers." England scoffed.

"Whoa whoa, what? Panty-hoppers? Is that even a right insult?" Australia laughed.

"Well, they did go around looking up women's skirts!" England cried defensively, earning a solid laugh from the man sitting next to her. She pursed her lips in a pout, and hooked her arms around her legs.

Australia wiped his eye, smiling at England.

"Sounds like a nice childhood."

"Thanks. I'm just glad it's all over and done with." She agreed, nodding to her companion.

There then was a contented silence, the trills of birds and the whispers of the trees surrounding them as they stared into the foliage shade protecting them from the sun. Mossy rocks cluttered the curves of the tiny hills sliding up and down and between the roots of the trees. Looking over at the girl gazing at the reddening sky, Australia was slightly surprised that she was so comfortably sitting in the bed of leaves underneath her. She was just as high and mighty as any other high-ranking official in the Kingdom, but she lacked their fragility, their squeamish reluctance; their femininity. It was slightly perplexing, but fascinating at the same time.

England broke his thoughts with a wonder, tilting her head at his. "I-I feel like I know you from somewhere."

Australia just smiled. "Yeah, from a long, long time ago…"

* * *

Thunderous hands cracked a wayward branch in half, the storm tossing anything in its path to the ground in its ignorant anger. Only until America splintered his hand, shrieking in pain, did he stop and realize that he was the one that was wrecking the forest. He'd carved himself a path all right, branches hanging limply from their trunks, rocks crushed into pieces, and the tree trunk he was now facing dented with a fist.

It hadn't seemed harder than snapping a crayon.

"Damn." He whispered, turning his back to his mistake and sliding down its wood face. Meeting the ground was plunging into the cold waters of regret, which were nothing but unforgiving on the "hero's" conscience.

He shouldn't have gotten so enraged. There was no reason for him to be so mad. He'd hurt the forest, yelled at his friend and probably severed any chance he had at becoming friends with England. All because he'd snapped once he'd failed.

He was confused with his own behavior: he'd never been much of a sore loser.  
…Who was he trying to fool? Although it was true that he'd never blown up like he just had, he hated losing, absolutely hated it. Failure wasn't in the vocabulary of a hero, and he wouldn't recognize it. Children didn't look up to the hero who didn't make it home; no one revered the man who didn't win a medal. It didn't matter if he had to resort to being utterly ruthless; America was not a loser!

Childish as that state of mind may be, it may as well be the only thing that kept him alive. It was something he was born with and something that taught him to survive in the forest as a child: his refusal to give up.

He didn't like to think of that time.

Well, he'd at least managed to calm himself down a fair bit. The knight stood up and dusted himself off. Now what about water? Without any trace of it in sight, there was little to do than to go forward. In his experience, however, following the animals would always lead you to a little stream if nothing else. So he spotted a bouncing rabbit and stalked it eagerly. Unfortunately, this did not work as it had when he was small and unthreatening and the rabbit, sensing his presence, quickly darted from sight. America sighed.

Maybe Australia's map pictured some river nearby. America could only hope.

Then, as if lightning had struck him upside the head, he remembered that he could climb trees. Maybe from a bird's eye view he'd have a better chance at finding a stream. He quickly set to scaling the tree in front of him, grinning at his own cleverness. Perched atop a high branch, the knight clutched the trunk of the tree and craned his neck to look upon the stretching landscape. He saw branches. Nice, thick, intertwining view-blocking branches.  
He sighed.

It seemed there was no choice. He had to go back. He turned from the stretching forest, shining from the last bits of late afternoon sunlight painting its body. Gracefully sliding onto the ground, he began walking back the way he came. If one good thing came out of America's temper tantrum, it was that the fruits of his labor easily showed him the way back. He chuckled as he thought of himself as an angry teenage Hansel, and the splints of wood covering the ground his breadcrumbs.

The clearing now in sight, America opened his mouth to call out to his friend, but he shut it as his shout was quickly crowded out by other voices. He dropped to the ground, concealing himself within a large berry bush.

Something smooth tickled his face. Alarmed, he quietly slapped his hand to his cheek, only to find nothing in his palm. His brow furrowed in confusion, as he swore he hit something, swore he felt something soft like a kiss strike his cheek. He just assumed it was a leaf.

Ignoring that he began listening to the newly-birthed conversation, carefully moving the brush to peer out at the speakers.

England, leaves crowning from her brush of a head, was the speaker, her voice soft and deep and musical. Much different than how she sounded when she was screaming at America. America rolled his eyes. Her voice was lovely though. 'Definitely one of her better qualities,' America thought, England's voice lulling him into a daze.

"Actually… now that I think about it, there was one thing worth remembering in my childhood."

"And that would be?" Australia asked, laying flat on the ground, staring into the sunset.

"America."

America jolted at the sound of his name.

Australia's head snapped up in surprise. "A-america?" he stammered, "Why?"

England didn't fail to notice, the shock; the immediate change in the atmosphere, and hesitantly, hopefully asked, "D-do you know him?"

"Yeah, but…"

The princess was overtaken with excitement. She had confirmation! He was still around! She couldn't help but begin sputtering a number of questions at the Australian. "Where is he? What's he doing? Does he ever talk about me? Does he even remember me?"

Australia was overwhelmed by the battering he was taking from England's questions. He thrust out his hands and frantically replied, "I, Princess, calm down, weren't you telling me about your childhood?"

"That's… right. Right. Well. As to why the best part of my childhood was spent with an orphan." England smiled bemusedly at the memory. "I knew he was precious from the first moment I met him. He was absolutely adorable, with the most amazing eyes. They were this perfectly indescribable, unclouded blue. Much like Alfred's actually. But those two can't really be compared farther than that."

"Oh?" Australia wondered at the irony.

"Oh yes," England asserted, very sure of herself. "America loved to tease and play and always wanted attention from me. That boy was ridiculous, had the energy of a million suns." England sighed happily. "I loved him like my own family. Like my only real family. I only hope that I was able to give him that much."

"What?"

"A family."

America clasped a hand to his mouth, attempting to suppress the emerging melody from the strums England was performing on his heartstrings. It was sad and slow and hurt and regretful and America didn't want to hear it. He didn't want anyone to hear it.

England didn't know just how much she meant to America.  
She was his family. Even if England wasn't his sister or his mother and didn't have a speck of his blood she was still precious to him, as he was to her. After all this time, she still loved him. She still loved him.

Though he wasn't about to reveal his identity, as he didn't want to throw her into the guilt abyss (as she was so prone to reacting rather extremely), he did want desperately to make up with her.  
That way when she eventually found out about this America she at least wouldn't think of him as a conceited jerk.  
And besides, there were still more sides to England that he wanted to see, things she wouldn't show her precious little America but maybe, just maybe, would show her friend Alfred Jones.  
Maybe.

America wrenched himself out of the bush and rolled stealthily into the trees. He emerged from the forest once more, this time loudly enough to jar the conversation and raise his companions' heads.

"Hey!" He shouted with a smile. The others did not return the sentiment.

"Alfred," Australia glided over to the clueless knight and grabbed his shoulder. "We need to talk about something."

"Huh? Is it about how I couldn't find water?" America's smile turned apologetic. "Sorry, but I think I'll need a little help with that."

"What, no that's not it. Seriously, Alfred," Australia articulated, his face staid.

"Wait, first let me apologize to England," America said, "I was just… I don't even know why I got so mad, and now that I think about it, that kind of scares me…" America laughed nervously. "I really don't want her to hate me."

Australia huffed, slightly frustrated with America's obliviousness. "Yes well about that, I'm not sure if you should-"

America had already turned away. "England, I'm sorry."

Australia groaned.

"Whatever, Alfred, I don't want your apology." England wouldn't even meet America's gaze or acknowledge his apologetic smiles. She wasn't in the mood to encourage an obnoxious child.

"Really, I… I want to make up with you. I shouldn't have walked off like I did." America insisted.

"And?" England huffed, unimpressed.

"Just… please accept it. It wasn't easy to say, but I really mean it, so please-"

"Why should I? You've been nothing but mean to me, and by what I've seen you're one juvenile, objectionable jerk!" Now England looked at America, really looked at him, but seeing nothing but what she wanted to see: him in the wrong. The sparks now popping over this raging fire could either have done little or set the whole forest ablaze. Fire is nothing to be toyed with. But England wasn't playing around.

Australia mumbled, "Juvenile, perhaps, but not a jerk."

"Australia, don't defend him!" England cried.

"But you're wrong!" America and Australia concurred, drawing a frustrated scowl from England.

Her stubbornness was credible. America could do better.

"Please, England, let me do us both a favor," America pressed sweetly, crawling closer. England stiffened.

"And what favor could you possibly do for me?" She argued, running out of venom to spit and self-assurance to run on.

"Let me prove you wrong."

Her stare was hard. His, unwavering.  
America had cornered her, shoving her into timidity. Any way she looked at it, she'd been defeated. England pursed her lips and dropped her eyes.

"Why do I k-keep giving you chances…" She mumbled under her breath.

England shook her head irritably and spat, "Fine. Do it! Make me like you! But for tonight, I'm going about hating you as usual, so don't be surprised that I no longer wish to see your face."  
She then turned her back to America and clutched her head with both hands as if trying to keep it from rolling off her neck. The fight unraveling in her mind she could not quell, vivid, roaring, and positively painful, but the solace she so desperately needed wasn't coming any time soon, as the next three words spiraled it even further out of control.

"As you wish."

* * *

America bid her goodnight.

England pulled the covers as far up over her head as she could.

* * *

**End Chapter 7.**

* * *

_A/N:_

_I'm pissed right now because my computer froze right after I formatted this so I had to format it again, and it took me 30 minutes to do w/revisions. UGH. I need a freaking editor._  
_I know it seems out of place but the useless cheek tickle paragraph has a purpose next chapter. Don't dwell on it for now though._

_Also, please be patient with my America. Although America and I have much in common, I am far more like England. I gave him that competitive 'losers never win' edge because I find it fitting. In my mind, America isn't a person that takes losing or even being down a few points well. Maybe that's because I've been watching too much of the Olympics? Oh well, hopefully I'm right about that...__; America is obviously being so nice and sorry now, but you know, he won't be apologizing for much longer._

_Unimportant note: __I admit it, I stole that last line right out of the Princess Bride. That book is so impossibly good._

_I'm sorry for rambling. Please R&R! Until next time! ~Sam_


	8. 8 Introduction to Magic

**Knight **

**8**

"What do you want Alfred?"

"To talk. I just want to talk to you."

Golden hair brushed vibrant and deep greens of the hanging heads of depressed leaves. America crept between the ivies and mosses coated trees as if afraid to startle his already questioning target. Atop the rustling whistle weeds and wild grasses sprouting from assimilated dirt and rocks pressed into the ground sat the Princess. Her muscles were tense and tight, too different to be a part of the relaxed, lazy forest.

The dimness of the clouded sky fragmented into occasional soft peals of light. It was then that the world underneath could revel in its warmth for just a moment before the sun sheathed itself again. If England's heart could be compared to this natural phenomenon, as cheesy as it was, maybe America could be the light strong enough to break through that cloudy barrier. At least he hoped.

He had done it once before after all.

"Why?" England didn't look at America, but rather than threatening, she sounded confused.

"I need a reason?" America broke into a lopsided smile. "Let's talk!" He fell onto the forest floor next to England, bringing the soft glowing sunshine with him. England turned her head to the grinning knight lying down next to her, her gaze narrowed, pensive, and utterly baffled.

She stammered, "O-ok… About what?"

"Anything!" Alfred replied enthusiastically. "What do you like?"

"What do I… what do I like?"

England was taken aback. No one had ever bothered to ask her about her interests.

"I like books and cooking a-and magic."

"Whoa, magic? You mean like the occult or something?" Alfred's eyes shot open.

"The Occult!" England scoffed haughtily. "The Occult is amusing to study but no self-respecting magician should practice any of its magical arts." Her eyes and voice dropped. "They're corrupt."

"Do _you _ever use magic?" America asked interestedly.

England couldn't hold back a smile. "Well, I practiced it, but I've been stuck in a tower for years. You can't play much with magic in such a confined area with flammables all over the place. So I would go out into the staircase and try my hand with thaumaturgy. I didn't ever practically use it, but every once in a while I would find a freshly caught fish or poultry in my cellar and I would boil it with magic."

America sat up eagerly. "That… Does that mean you can create fish and stuff to eat? Oh my god, England, do that. Magic us up a feast and stuff!"

England's hands flew up, feebly waving off America's energetic word onslaught. "I can't conjure just yet." England said, rocking forward on her palms. "Personally, I think it was the fairies who left me food."

America raised an eyebrow. "Fairies? You're serious?"

"Yes. They're lovely little creatures that used to visit my window every so often and chat with me. They, besides the books, were truly my only companions."

America grinned. "Right, right. You did outgrow those imaginary friends, though right?"

England's faint smile dissipated. The clouds reemerged to block out the glint of sunshine filtering through the forest. Suddenly, everything felt danker and gloomier than before. "Fairies are real, Alfred, I spoke to them. I _saw them._"

A bird sang its woes to the wood. England joined in its melancholy song.

"The fairies would sometimes ask, 'England, why don't you come out and play with us?' It broke my heart thinking I'd have to tell them 'I'm trapped', so I would always have an excuse to refuse them. They eventually gave up trying to engage me, and thought I didn't like them." England gazed somberly off into the distance, her green eyes glazed with the watery reflection of the blue and grey sky. "Hopefully they understand that wasn't the case."

America simply cocked his head to the side. "Then why didn't you just poof out there and play, huh? You're a witch!"

"I can't teleport either!" England declared, a cynical tone enveloping her voice.

"You should have slipped out the window then." America suggested.

"The windows were small so that people couldn't get in, you really think that I'd be able to-" Alfred's laughing interrupted her midsentence, and England's patience began to wear.

"Haha, then you should have shrunk yourself! And that way the dragon wouldn't have seen you! See, killing two birds with one stone!" America pointed, bright-eyed.

"No, I can't shrink myself either. And if I did, how in the world do you suppose I get all the way up to the window, idiot?" England growled, irritated by America's blatant naïveté.

America scoffed back, his grin becoming patronizing. "Well, ma'am, you don't have a lot of tricks for a spellcaster. I was expecting to be more impressed."

Insulted, England insisted, "I'm a good witch!"

"Huh." America replied skeptically.

America daring to doubt her skill sparked England's annoyance into full-fledged indignation.

"Look, look at this," She beckoned, determined to prove her sincerity.

Rubbing her hands together, she lowered her eyes and began to breathe deeply.

The entire atmosphere seemed to change, the blackened breeze rushing around them, the white trunks of the trees leaning towards her, the clouds rolling even further over the sun, darkening the entire world. America was rightfully intrigued and, sparkling blue eyes focused intently on England's hands, he leaned forward ever so conspicuously. Instantly, her hands began to glow softly, illuminating her face with the only light in the area. America gasped. England grinned proudly and chuckled to herself. Then, she quickly split her hands and glittering white fire enveloped the fleeing friction. America jumped and exclaimed in amazement. Her fingertips swiftly caught the sparks, and England's self-confident smile beamed in their sparkling radiance. Shreds of fire jumped everywhere, dying as they left the dandelions blooming from England's fingertips. America leant forward to touch the sparks, but England yanked her hands away and scolded him. The flickering lingered for a little while longer, and then fizzled out in small orange flames, much like a firework sparkler.

Soon afterwards, the forest was again canopied with the sun's recumbent light.

"Whoa." America could hardly speak with surprise, shock, and awe all lodged in his throat. He just stared at England, impressed.

"Pretty neat, wouldn't you say?

"Y-yeah," America agreed in a whisper. England laughed, her smile curling around on her face like a cat's tail.

"Here, I want to show you something else." Rising from the forest floor, she picked up her bow and quiver. "If you're still interested, that is." England lilted, acknowledging America's newfound captivation with her magical skill and anticipating a spirited response.

America scrambled to his own feet with an overenthusiastic nod. "I- wow… I didn't… I never…" the knight stuttered, unable to collect his thoughts.

"I was actually experimenting with something brilliant back in the castle," England interrupted as she began stringing her bow. She drew the arrow to her chin in the final stage of her preparation.

"See, I can cast a spell on my arrow like this and enhance its performance." Murmuring a single word, the Princess released the arrow, sending it flying in an almost geometric beeline to splinter the tree trunk in a perfect shot. America felt incredibly foolish for attempting to correct her shooting skills as he watched, almost ashamed by the woman's excellent marksmanship.

"Also, focusing on the arrowhead, watch this." She called to his attention, as if he had ever _stopped _watching her. "Infernae."

The tip of the arrow burst into flames.

"Oh Jesus!" America cried.

"It gets better!" England enthused. "Look!"

The arrow thrust headfirst into the tree, but rather than catching the tree on fire as status quo, steam escaped from the inside and the arrow ejected itself from the trunk. A large black hole smoldered from inside the tree, but in mere moments the sizzling and popping ceased and the trunk redressed itself with dry brown bark. It was like it had never been blemished.  
The arrow was unharmed as well; in fact it looked even sharper and shinier than when it left England's bowstring.

America would have been very surprised to learn that he could be even more astonished by England.

"Ahh!" He jumped, practically drooling at what he saw. Never had he imagined that the things present in storybooks and fairy tales truly existed. He wondered what other myths he'd previously thought false were true. Trolls? Goblins? Ghosts?! Wicked witches who ate children for dinner seemed not too distant from the new truth. He squirmed around eagerly.

"That was… that was _awesome_ England! You're gonna have to teach me how to do that!" America flailed about.

"Hahahaha, if you knew how to shoot an arrow, perhaps I could!" England laughed, replacing her arrow into her quiver and throwing her weapon across her arm.

"I meant the magic, dummy." America jeered playfully, giving his compatriot a sideways glance.

"Oh, that. Well I haven't my spellbook with me, unfortunately."

America's innocently confused eyes met England's. "But don't you just say words and poof?"

England grimaced. "No, you don't just say words and 'poof', you have to make a connection with the Realm of Magic and then you have to learn to utilize chi and… it's a _process_, Alfred." She criticized, tearing her eyes away from her companion and focusing on the trail ahead through the cutting forest floor.

"Then when we get back to…" America began to say, following her Highness into the overgrowths and tangles sheltering the stone and dirt drops, slopes, and paths strewn all over the forest. His breath caught in his mouth though, unable to finish the sentence, realizing that the last part was nothing more than a wish, an unfathomable impossibility. There were infinite barriers, too many regulations, too many schedule differences… there wasn't a possible way that they would ever really be together like this again when they returned home. He may see England once or twice a day if he was lucky. Proposing they play together like he was still a child, assuming that England would still have time for him and that he was allowed to see her whenever he pleased was all childish of him. He knew better than that.

"No… never mind." He finished dejectedly.

"Hm? What were you saying Alfred?" England called over her shoulder, sliding down a cracked and jagged hill. America shook his head.

"Sorry, forget it."

The tone was so low and somber that it chilled England. She turned to look at the knight, concerned. Brown hair brushed her cheek as America passed her without even a glance. Her spirits shattered, shards sprinkled all over the rocky ground. "O-ok." She responded, her voice watery, sidling up to him feebly.

Even in her discouragement she wished to know what was the cause of Alfred's sudden shift in personality, just what he was upset about this time. What could she have possibly done to upset him? The question pinched at her lips and just as she began to set it free, the knight next to her gently and timidly touched her hair.

She was lost.

Not even offended, though she certainly should be. None of her subjects should ever lay hands on her. The thought was almost disgusting.

But Alfred's soft touch was befuddling. He wasn't just a peasant, but a peasant that was less than keen towards her, and not just because of rumors and appearances. He genuinely disliked her character, she assumed. However, he just stroked her hair as if all of those boundaries meant nothing, as if they had known each other for years and shared that confusing sudden pain that had come to Alfred. She had no response.

It didn't feel bad. It almost tickled, for the second his fingers grazed her scalp. She may have even _liked_ it, for as much as she disliked Alfred, which was becoming increasingly less. Perhaps, she could become accustomed to him; maybe even enjoy his company.

America jerked his hand from England's head, his eyes snapping anxiously to the monarch's pleading for forgiveness. England just stared at America, concentrated on solving his puzzling actions.

America knew the gesture was too friendly.

If England knew it was her America, it would have been a welcome touch. However, it wasn't her America touching her, but a stranger, a very confusing stranger at that. America apologized profusely, and offered to wash England's hair for her if she so wished.

"No, no, that won't be necessary," she mused distantly, still staring at him. Her vapid and uncharacteristic response jilted him, and the knight blinked at her with an equally puzzled demeanor.

"Princess, are you all right?"

"Yes!" She responded a little too loudly, returning from her thoughtful daze and severing eye contact with the boy.

Something was so odd about him, she knew, something familiar, but difficult to recall.

"Okay, because I was pretty concerned when you didn't scream 'You peasant, how dare you touch me!' right after I pet you," he joked awkwardly, earning a very comforting gasp from an offended England.

"Don't you go predicting my actions! Shows how much you know, I didn't react like that at all! And your impressions are abhorrent; my voice sounds nothing like that!" She shouted above America's teasing, but genuine laughs and scoffs.

"Under most circumstances, you know you would have done that." He smirked. England bit her cheek. The thought had even crossed her mind, but it hadn't entitled any sort of response.

"Just who was this man to pretend as if he knows me?" She asked aloud, glowering into America's unfazed eyes.

"Someone who understands all of that, England." America smiled softly at the surprised, but uninfluenced Princess.

"I used to be just as elitist as you, due to someone I loved very much teaching me to be that way. But then… things out of their control took that person from me." England's gaze became tight and clueless. America took no heed, continuing his story, intent on making his point. "I was forced to fend for myself then, and I learned a whole lot from tons of different people: the Spanish and the Germans of Hearts, the French and the Dutch of Diamonds, the Africans, the Native Americans; you understand what I'm telling you. The point is I decided that all people have interesting, different but equally fantastic qualities and I wanted to take something from each of them. I happily adopted pieces of every kind of commoner about, even gypsies. I think I may be one of the only people in the palace that understands that all people, though different are exactly the same on the inside and should be free to do as they please like we do!"

"Are you saying that commoners and royalty are of _equal worth_?" England questioned apprehensively, afraid and disgusted by the answer she knew was to tumble from America's mouth.

"Well…" America began, but he was quickly cut off by an absolutely revolted England, "Are you saying that the French have fantastic qualities that rival the English? No, no, you're saying that we're equal!" England began to shake, his aversion to the subject becoming overly apparent. America's eyes clouded over, the glittering sun unable to match his displeasure.

"I think we'll just have to agree to disagree then," he replied thickly. His tone was low and grave, but far unlike the disappointed attitude he had taken moments before. This one was disapproving. This one… this one struck a bitter chord in England that would reverberate back to the campsite.

She wanted to argue, but the words fell to America's… iciness. She wished that the argument had never started. She wished that the pair could go back to speaking so naturally like before, something she had never really had the pleasure of doing with another human being.

But she hit America hard, and the boy wasn't feeling all too friendly to England any longer.

Her chest contracted, harming her breathing. She felt as if her heart was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. The minutes of walking that went by without hearing his musical voice and obnoxious laughs were becoming slightly painful. A few hours could really change an opinion…

His opinion of her seemed to take no new form.

'It's not my fault though,' she thought desperately, defensively, thrashing through a branch-ridden brush as she stared at his retreating figure. 'He obviously doesn't understand birthrights. Monarchs are very important people, only second to God, chosen by God himself. Certainly God's chosen people are nowhere near the clammy peasantry. The peasants exist to serve God and God's own, right? Alfred just doesn't understand.'

But America did understand because he believed everything England believed. Once.

Australia skinned the partridge with his knife, and England tended the fire. America was off collecting firewood, breaking branches from trees and snapping them into chipped halves for England to throw into the pit.

Manual labor was a foreign practice to the Princess, who was unsure of everything she did from gathering twigs to sparking the flint. Australia ended up blowing the blaze into being, advising England to turn the logs carefully and monitor the flying flames. "We want it all in the pit, Princess," he'd said with a smile. Australia quickly plotted the group's next movements, their midnight journey to take them eastbound and down. The knight in question explained that if all went according to plan, combat would be minimal, travel time would be optimal, and civilization was only a day or two off on horseback. The news elated her, imagining finally returning home for the first time in years. The palace would be in week-long celebration, the entire kingdom abound with festivities. She would be married, as the princess always eventually is, and…

"Oh how is it for me to have forgotten such a thing?" England wondered aloud. Australia tilted his head.

"What?" Australia inquired.

Green eyes turned to look at him curiously. "Hm… tell me, Australia. What is the current king like?"

Australia's eyes frenzied and shoulders stiffened in discomfort. He stared contemplatively at the sky. Then, as if returning from the surface of the moon, his eyes slowly ventured back to England and his knife returned to work.

"If I had to describe him, silent." He offered inconclusively.

The news estranged England. Suddenly, her fantasies of home were riddled with uninteresting days and quiet nights with only her own voice to speak with. Never to love a husband she had nothing in common with and who would hardly speak with her, she would sit in her room needle pointing and reading all day as she had done when she was trapped. Monarchy and commitment was loneliness and misery's infallible disguise.

Her heart dropped like the sticks America emptied from his arms upon re-emerging from the woods.

England brightened.

But the knight gave her a cold, detesting look and she could hear her heart breaking, the resonating, shattering sound unbearable.  
She felt like she was losing the favor of the only person who would truly be friendly to her.  
Australia was polite, but Alfred was… warm, silly. Interested in England. He'd never seemed to think so little of her and she'd never seemed to care so much about whatever anyone else thought. It hurt.

For the very first time, it hurt.

"Oh, hey, I was thinking about something when I was breaking wood today." America bit at his words, finding them tasteless, disgusting.

England gasped shakily. "Oh my…"

America looked past England and very pointedly at Australia, shouting without the necessary volume, "You know how I got all pissed off yesterday at England? Well, I think I've figured out why. See, because I was just trying to help her and she blew up at me-"

This ruffled England's feathers. She found it impressively hard to suppress her quickly and already boiling temper, and made little effort to.

"What in God's name are you so furious about, Jones?! It seems all you can do is patronize me!" She attacked.

"Aren't I supposed to be saying that to you? But it's not just me you patronize is it, England?" The devil's smile swirled on his face. Never was fury and disdain so mockingly spat at the Princess, and she could no longer keep her face from growing red and her disgust from writhing around in her head.

"Stop it." Australia growled at the American, who now stared point-blank at England and seemed oblivious to anything else in the world.

"No, you've got a whole kingdom of servants and slaves that you just love to turn your nose up at and spit on. I bet you think they'd thank you," He sneered, but England quickly advanced on him and stood with as much noise as she could muster.

Staring down at him, she screeched, "I would highly recommend you shut your obnoxious, loud, incessant trap!"

America ambled up to meet her glare, and England felt smaller and smaller with every inch he gained. But just as soon as he began to growl at the Princess, Australia shot an arm between the duelists, and pushed America away from England.

"Shut up, the both of you!" He barked.

The others silenced.

"Now I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you two, but I refuse to cook this bird and I refuse to lead you out of this forest until you apologize to each other," Australia declared, bitter tension vexing him not. He turned to America, "Wasn't it you that said you should put aside your differences so that we could complete this mission?"

America scoffed impudently. He then began to exclaim, "This isn't just a difference, Australia, this is a serious moral issue! This, this way of thinking is…"

"He didn't ask for you to justify yourself," England interrupted, arms crossed and eyes crosser.

"I didn't ask you to answer for me." America cut back. Australia delivered the same glower, dampening England's haughty confidence.

"What, you think I'm on your side of the argument?" He snarled at England, "Think again." The pair left his sight, and the dank trees of the forest replaced them. "I'm going to take a piss. Apologize."

The knight then stalked off in the direction of a nearby stream, the wind whisking away his footsteps.

"…"

Wordless.

"…"

Bitter glances. Softer glances. Conceding glances.

America sighed. "We need to get out of this forest."

"…I suppose that's true…" England grumbled.

"The closest I can come to sorry is 'Fuck you,' so I think we're at an impasse." America grinned condescendingly.

England exploded. "Well fuck you too! You know, I thought I might be beginning to tolerate you, maybe even like you, but obviously I was mistaken. You're just as childish as I thought you were in the first place!"

"…You liked me?" Questioning and surprised, blue eyes searched for green only to find them running away as fast as they could go.

England blushed.

"Wh-a… I-I mean, that's… I'm still very angry!" She shouted, and America couldn't help but grin brightly at the girl's ardor.

"Oh hush, England, I was just kidding."

"It was some joke! Have your fun there, asshole?!" England warbled, being pushed further and further towards the emotional precipice. She was one step away from the edge of the cliff, the ravine underneath her a distant echoing end.

It was somewhat endearing that she got so vivacious.

'So much passion must take a whole lot of energy,' America thought, and warmed at the next, 'High-energy people are pretty dynamic, huh? We're alike in more ways than I thought.'

The continuance of those thoughts would have to wait until after England finished spitting at him. "What the hell are you smiling for?"

America beamed at her, not at all arrogantly. "I have no idea, I'm still pretty pissed too. But for all the fundamental purposes, I'm sorry."

England's expression softened slightly. "As am I."

"Good then." America nodded.

"Fine." England clicked her tongue.

Silence once again whistled around them, but a fretful England hogged the atmosphere to a point where America could find little comfort beside her. She shook slightly and seemed to want to whimper, to cry, to scream, to fight, to run and never look back.

The stress was crashing down on her. She'd screamed, she'd cried, she'd done it all these past three days, constantly running as her world was crumbling to pieces, devastated, uprooted, never to return.

America couldn't see her like this.

This was his fault.

It was his second bout with guilt in the past three days. There she sat, the gray, lovely maiden by the other single women, chatting in idle nothings, waiting to be proposed. America was enchanted, and as soon as he saw her he asked her to dance without a moment's notice to the other women in the room, despite their allure, brightness, and beauty.

And so began guilt's steady chokehold on a foolish boy's frail heart.

"…I still want to be friends." His words were soft and sweet to the taste.

England was shocked. "What?" She hungered for more, his words becoming irresistibly delicious for her ailing mind. She needed solace; she needed sugar.

America offered her a wimpy heart-melting smile. The flavor of weak chocolate. It was too unsatisfying. "I mean… even though you—"

Panicked whinnies and blood-curdling cries resounded from within the foggy confine of the forest. America's mouth ceased moving, and his head snapped attention, the night becoming even more hazed and threatening than before. Manish yells barraged in the stream's direction, rogue and disturbing and nerve-wracking, the shallow realization that one of their own was in danger jolting the pair to their legs.

"What the holy hell?!" England gasped.

Stone-faced, America ripped his sword from the grass, sliding it around his waist and making a reach for Australia's in the process.

"Grab your bow." He commanded, gliding back up and not waiting for England's OK. Looking into the Princess's eyes over his shoulder, he let her cover herself in confidence and warlike readiness for battle. She nodded to him, hands trembling slightly, uncertain if truly prepared for her first real fight.

"Let's move!"

* * *

**End Chapter 8**

* * *

****_A/N:_

_I haven't been around a computer for the past two and a half weeks, so this chapter is very late and longer than I had anticipated... I had no idea I was leaving to visit my dad so soon and failed to fill a queue out or get a chapter prepped so I could go ahead and upload it as soon as I had access to the internet again. For someone who never has anything going on, so much has been going on with me lately. I'll do my best to get my chapters cranking out at an even better speed. Hopefully the faster momentum in my life will carry over to my fics. Sorry for rambling again, I'm just totally stressed right now, which you can probably tell by my lack of eloquence. Adieu. ~Sam_


	9. 9 Turning Tide Bandits

**Knight **

**9**

Red-tipped fingers fumbled with leather laces as they often frustratedly did. Australia groaned, agitated. He was never able to quite tie these overly complicated pants right. The stupid cords had snapped on more than one occasion, leading to frustrated drooping knots and leaving his shirt untucked so his failure to do simple tasks like tie up his pants wouldn't be broadcasted to the world. The laces jumbled in a makeshift knot, the knight stuffed them into his pants, attempting to make them look remotely presentable. Ignoring the loose holes, he went right along and shoved his shirt far enough down that his underwear was at least partly camouflaged.

Lower caliber than usual, but his handiwork would do for now. No one is looking at your trousers in the dark.

Throughout this little debacle, the knight's horses tugged at their reins and whined in disturbance, their instincts aflutter with alarm to the impending danger.

Australia paid them no mind. As stressed as the humans of their party were, he couldn't imagine what the animals must be feeling. Reckless as he was with them, he was surprised when he led them to the water and left them to drink alone that they didn't dart off without a moment's hesitation. Maybe somewhere inside, they understood completely about the direness of their task to return the Princess of Spades.

The thought descended on Australia almost as if wary and foreboding. 'I wonder how we haven't come across any trouble yet. We did that training like there would be people trying to mug us at every corner.' He retied the horse's reins to the tree branch and began untangling his knotted pant laces.

Now, the fauna becoming irrepressibly restless with frightened neighs and constant rearing, Australia's puzzlement went from little to palpable.

"What has got you two so rowdy?" Australia wondered aloud.

An arrow shot close to his head responded.

Australia's head snapped around, a heavy pressure settling around his shoulders, thrusting itself in his eardrums. Suddenly, the world was tinted, contrasted, painted in vivid hyper-color versions of its normal shades. Every sound screamed, every vibration in the ground grazing Australia's feet tingled to the tips of his fingers. Alarming bells clattered loudly within his body, rushing panicked, to his ingrained memory. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed as he palmed his belt for his sword.

His sword.

Where in the holy hell was his sword!?

A deathly cry ripped through the air then, deep and heavy and threatening, and as soon as its echo dissolved there were men dropping like pine needles from the trees and brandishing their weapons eagerly.

Australia ripped the horses' reins from the tree and shooed them away with the wave of a stick. Their gallops clicking away, their distance growing in front of him, while behind him he knew the proximity of his confronters was only getting closer and closer.

He recognized the one friend he could count on to save him now gripped tightly in his right hand, the face unfamiliar, but the type known so well it might as well be an extension of himself. He jumped it up in his hand, wielded like a sword, and with a rebel swish of his arm, he ducked low and began to swing.

Luckily, the bowman wasn't much of a sharpshooter. Arrows flickered around Australia's quickly moving figure, too weak, too strong, too fast; too slow. The knight took advantage of his attackers apparent lack of skill, knocking them to their knees, ankles buckling, falling with thumps to the ground. Bruises began littering his back in retaliation, the technique knocking the weapons from the assailants' hands. He hardly expected this to hurt them, but he wanted to do whatever he could to delay their assault, buy him some time, at least enough time to reach the others.

Among the growls and the hisses and the stumbles behind him, the forest now bursting with sound, Australia heard the voice he thirsted for, bestowing confidence upon him that now he stood straight up and shoved his fist into whoever was making himself available to him.

That tinny sound was recognizable anywhere: America was coming.

Australia, now sure he could break for it, ran in the direction of America's voice, the eight visible men following him.

America had reached speeds unthinkable by England. To make acres into seconds was something she'd previously thought unachievable, but clearly this exceptional feat of mankind bent her perception of the world as it should be once again. He weaved through trees and clambered over rocks in bursts of lightning and mere moments from when he'd began to move, England lost him.

Frustrated, she stopped and groaned, knowing full well that she'd be challenged to catch up with him again. But when she heard a loud, recognizable cry nearby, she knew they'd been close the entire time.

Her ears perked up.

What was that noise booming alongside the masculine clash of metal and voice?

Neighs like screams. The howls of terrified horses.

Suddenly, the gallops echoed and the tickle of wind swishing through horsehair was perfectly visible. England began to sing in magical verse, rushing towards the wood and leaf sheets that concealed the horses. Upon the sight of fluttering black mane, the Princess shot an icy breath from between her lips and quickly drew a circle with her finger. Instantaneously, a weak barrier slithered between two trees, blocking the animals from running any further. As her deep, soothing melody neared the horses, they became visibly calmer, and were no longer frightened. Drowsy, enchanted neighs warbled forth from the two horses' mouths, and in seconds they had settled comfortably on the ground. England's magic shielded the horses from harm, so the instant they stilled, she darted off.

The end of the sun glowed unhelpfully in the distance. The pale, new moonlight ran with her, shimmering and falling upon itself, trying to trip England in its spite. The evening was no friend, never to lend a helping hand to locating your friends or your targets as you grab and arrow and begin to draw back your bow. Enchanting whispers enclosed the tip of the arrowhead, sparkling with electricity, covered in word. Grunts came closer and England spotted her knights, the stream bathing in the late evening's last light and a fresh staining pool of blood.

England tried to refrain from shock, her grip on the weapon loosening. The knights were spinning in action, combating eight men at once while arrows bee-lined to termination, the vast majority losing their stingers to the ground than their targets. Australia had taken one to the shoulder, the splinter still sticking from his skin. Horror and awe glowed in the Princess' eyes at the realization that both of these knights had few scratches no matter what the fighters would throw at them. The arrow seemed to Australia nothing more than just that, a splinter.

"Only injure them, remember!" England saw Australia mouth to a particularly aggressive America, who cut a man in his middle and thrust him to the ground.

"He's injured all right," the knight scoffed, the base of his sword clattering with the face of an opponent.

But each swoop seemed like child's play to the knights, the heavy iron swords no more than made of wood.

'Could they possibly be superhuman?' England thought, bewildered.

'Australia… is certainly one, but could Alfred truly be? Wouldn't Alfred have to be… Could Alfred be… a Card of the Deck?

A country?'

This was neither the time nor place to care. England's companions needed her. She pulled back the string of her bow and let her green eyes loose, scanning the area for the bowmen lurking in the shadows.

Her arrow flew far and fast, gliding like a comet, glittering white sparks falling from its form. Not a man on the battlefield could miss it, bloody, battered, scratched or otherwise, as it tore through the trees without damaging them and crashed into someone's chest.

"England, where have you been?" America asked, arrogant in reassurance.

Enchanted arrows glided across the evening sky just as faint smiles glided across the knights' faces. The black-clad attackers, horrified, began to search in the sloping rocks for the witch. With their backs turned, the boys saw their chance and crept up to deliver the final blow that would open the doors to their safe escape.

They missed the musky scent, the devilish shadow; the glint of the knife that thirsted for the blood of a nation. Once it crept up on America, it was too late for him to realize what was going to be done until it had been done, and his screams impaled the blue-lit moon turning it red.

"America!" Australia shouted and stabbed at the man without realizing what he had done.

The bandit fell to the ground in bloody gasps. The sword that killed him followed suit, trembling.

* * *

The entire gang of bandits had fled from the scene upon the death of what the group of heroes presumed to be their leader, all injured to some degree and absolutely terrified at the scene that just played out to them.

A crumbling harmony of sliding rock and watery voice saw them off as England's dress billowed behind her in an alarmed wind.

"What happened? Alfred, are you all right? Alfred?" Her voice cracked, feeling sick from the adrenaline crash.

America's hand was covered in fresh crimson paint as he held it to his chest.  
Blood spilled all over his shirt, once pure, once unharmed. Never had red looked so ugly a color to England, never had she once wanted to expel it from the world, but seeing it pour forth so condescendingly from America's wound, knowing full well that it was destroying him as it did so, there was nothing more she wanted to do than to erase its entire existence.

Stabbed straight in the back through his chest.

The ground knew no difference between America's agony and rain. It soaked them up as equals in its ignorance. England wanted nothing more than to ring it out, beat it, and return what was America's to him.  
But she could not.

The princess cast every silly classist notion that came with her title aside to rush to the knight's side. She grabbed him almost violently and slid his honey blond head onto her lap, hoping her fright wouldn't boil over, fall to his face, and bring him any more pain.

"Don't do that with your face, it makes your eyebrows look stupid," America bantered, but it just made England's heartbeats multiply. Would he rather her be furious at him than try to salvage every moment she could? She wouldn't cry for him, even if he passed. She wouldn't feel anything at all!

But anger and anxiety had already solidified their presence in England, who had quickly attached to being annoyed; being charmed by the confusing, far too eager peasant boy.

"Did I ever tell you that I thought magic was fake before you showed me that you could do it?" He whispered faintly. She grit her teeth and wiped her tears from her face.

"So you just thought I was spinning yarn when I told you about magic?"

"Until you burned that tree, yeah!" He grinned weakly, cutting her heart and shortening her breathing. It hurt to see him smile without beaming, live without energy, be without truly being. It was wrong. Vile. Poison.

England couldn't stop herself from falling over his head, unable to hold herself up anymore. This contagious weakness was too easy to catch, so soft, so sneaky it slipped by unnoticed until she was already down and crying.

"England, I'm sorry." He rasped, rocking his head to the side and touching her arm gently.

Why would he do this to her? Say such a thing as he most certainly perished?

"What are you talking about, you dolt?" Tears slid down her nose, slipping from the grip of her face.

"When I said 'sorry' before I didn't mean it, but I-I really mean it this time, so," He offered sheepishly, breaking the wall erected between them.

It was at this moment that every shard of that wall spread far across the land, never to fully be found.  
It was, coincidentally, at this moment that England realized she had the power to resist death.

"I… Alfred… Th- I mean… I-I'm sorry too, idiot," she growled, grinding each piece of that wall with her heel. "I will save you, OK? I'll show you magic's true power!"

Spells once again reached out their silvery, mystical hands and England gratefully and humbly took them and spread them over America's bleeding body. They clawed and caressed at the wounds, each touch relieving America's pain if only for a second, his responses limited to cringes and dry cries. Silver gilded mercy.

Even as England watched her weak magic twinkle around his chest, she could not comfort herself, unimpressed by her delicacy, unhappy that Alfred was to see her this way, especially over him. She knew that this would get him fired up, he'd be so proud of himself, the hateful Princess of Spades crying over his injured body. She tightened with tears.  
'This crying is your fault for getting so battered.' Her head whirled. 'I'm so sorry for getting cross with you… you infuriate me so much, but I want to be infuriated by you. I want to talk to you more, listen to you, and learn all about you… I want to be your friend, Alfred Jones… Be my first real friend.'

Healing glows curled and weaved through the knight's wound. His breathing slowed, and he reverted to a comatose-like state, not moving, not seeing. England trembled, unsure, but it was as if a presence came about her and held his hands steady, and suddenly she knew exactly what to do.  
She swept her hands up in a cutting motion, effectively splitting the strings from her fingers, no longer puppeteer to the cells in America's body. She directed an alert Australia to grab a cloth or gauze if he had one, tape, even would be fine. The older knight nodded curtly and scrambled off.

Truthfully, if America were human as he pretended to be, he would certainly have died no matter what England had done to save him. He was never in danger of Death. Death hadn't even sniffed him.

White wispy magic fizzled out, sewing America's chest up with scarring red thread. The boy's breathing began to quicken, the sedating spell wearing off on him.

"Ah, ow, ow…" he began to whimper, eyelashes curtaining his now slack eyes.

"Shh, shh, don't move," England soothed, pressing his rising shoulders back to the ground. "Wait for me to bind your wound."

"England," America began, only to be interrupted by Australia's return, the older knight brandishing a roll of gauze.

England's hands wound soft woven cloth around America's torso, Australia directed to prop the injured up against a tree so she wrap his back. The two knights, now rendered useless to the operation, took to staring at each other to entertain themselves.  
Briefly vacationing cheeky grins returned to their faces like they always did and would, teeth shining even in the darkness of the infant night.

"Beating up bandits, eh, mate?" Australia teased.

"Well, if I died there, you can't argue that wouldn't have been a heroic death." America disputed, much to England's discrepancy.

She pulled her eyes from America's chest to his own, halting her binding, brow furrowed.

"Heroic my arse! You idiot! How could you have turned your back so quickly? Did you even stop to think?" She had clearly come to America armed and ready for war. His lip trembled, mimicking her own.  
"You, I- you stupid dolt, you could have been killed back there!" She cried, shaking and gripping the gauze tightly.

America's mouth bloomed into a shaky, irrepressible flower of a smile.

"Y-you really do like me!" He accused, his voice quavering.

England's face blushed for the first time, red and vibrant and revealing, making her eyes shimmer sevenfold. "No! That's not it! I only said that I might begin to like you! You're only potentially likable! No more! No less!" She insisted, her reaction resulting in extremely tight wrapping that practically squeezed America into submission.  
"I did it because what use is an injured bodyguard?" She made a point to say this as standoffish as possible, trying to cover her flushing face with stubborn rhetoric.

America was beginning to see his England again.

"Aw, England, you make me want to hug you!" He cried, throwing his arms out zealously, practically beaming.

"W-h-hat?" Her hands stopped moving. Those electric words sent her body into violent shudders, her brain ceasing to function, her heart unable to beat.  
What was she to say? What was she to do? Would she allow it? Did she even feel that way? Her face heated, her heart melted and her body turned to string.

America's eyes glinted mischievously as he lowered his arms.  
"Jesus, look at your face, I was only joking," His cynical smirk cadenced.

England bubbled over, red with fury now rather than pink with embarrassment.  
"You arse!" She shouted, but America just laughed and held her gauze wrapped hands in his own.

* * *

**End Knight 9.**

* * *

****_A/N:_

_I'm super busy. This chapter is short. Gets to the point.  
__I mentioned about two chapters back that there would be a tie-in from the previous chapter to the following chapter. I think it was around Chapter 6, where I mentioned about something brushing America's cheek being relevant. _That link will finally be revealed in the next chapter_. I was not expecting Chapter 8 to be as long as it was, and this chapter was short on purpose partly to make up for that, so we didn't get to it.  
_

_The love is blossoming?  
__Stick around, and please please _please_ review! I always respond and they make me smile. Plus, many readers base whether or not they read a story on the amount of reviews, so if you like Knight, please review so I know!_

_How will I know if you really like me? I say a prayer that Knight does well this week. I fall in love whenever I get a review. I'm asking you what you think about my writing! [It's How Will I Know by Whitney Houston. Did you get my reference? ... Whatever it was clever.]  
__Later. ~ Sam_


	10. 10 The Joke

**Knight**

**10**

The night engaged his mistress in the latest hour, her chromatic glow swirling through the black and blue sky. Her steps were soft and gliding, forever second to the boisterous and flashy sun; her light went unappreciated. Even so, she danced; nevertheless, she danced, the purest of white light dripping onto the surface of the ungrateful Earth.

It was in this somber light that the Spades Kingdom trio traveled in, the humidity in the air pinching at the lantern flame. The tails of the moon's dress licked the trickling shadow river, swift and black upstream.  
Hooves clambered along, their masters following the river blindly and desperately hoping that the map would soon prove useful again.

England gripped the leather reins of America's horse and led its every step with her own. She shot a flimsy glance behind her shoulder, America's swinging leg catching her eye. Cold iron seared the princess's palm; the handle rubbed soft skin, its burning body dangling about. Her clutching fingers secretly whispered to the fire, keeping it lively enough to light their way.

The fire suddenly hissed in objection. Its orange light weakened and fizzled slightly for a second, and then burst back into its original form. Puzzled, England stared through the glass window at the rebellious flame, but a cool drop of water splashed into her hair and the problem became instantly clear to her.  
She jerked her gaze to Australia, who was looking up at the sky just as confused. He had clearly felt something too, the fire bouncing off of the strained contours of his face.

"Australia…" England hummed worriedly.

The knight's brown eyes met the Princess'. His gaze soothed England, the knight clearly undaunted by the now lightly falling rain.

"Don't worry about it, Princess, it won't hold us up for a minute." His smile faintly reminisced America's same self-confident, bright grin. England pursed her lips slightly.

"Not with your magic, right?" England's back straightened in shock.

Both of them? Both of these knights were this unaware of the extent of a magician's powers? Unbelievable!

"No! No, magic cannot influence the weather! Not any _legal_ kind of magic, anyhow! I can't practice something like that because it could tear the very fabric of the universe!" England growled.

Australia wasn't like America, no matter how bright his smile was, and he wasn't well accepting of England's misdirected anger. "Sod off, England." Australia hissed. His smile bent into a condemning sneer.

'Oh, I've gone too far again…' England bit her lip to suppress the unhappiness resounding in her now knotting stomach.  
Stammers plowed forth from her frowning lips. "I-I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… explode…"

"You've been talking to America too much." Australia returned kindly. Avoiding eye contact, he pointed at England, a raindrop sliding down his cheek. "Don't be too harsh on him now."  
Relieved that Australia wasn't angry with her, England smiled softly.

"Being cordial to that boy is a task in and of itself." She whispered, turning her eyes back to the sleeping, recovering knight. He slept so soundly; that is to say without a sound. Beautiful long eyelashes, light blush on tan cheeks, rain droplets dotting golden hair in pretty silence, all graced with a loose peacefulness.  
Suddenly, she felt warm and breathless and overwhelmed. Her heart skipped a beat, and the uncomfortable Princess locked her eyes on the road in front of her. It crept so obviously on her face, spreading its long red legs from cheek to cheek.

What was this?

Was she… attracted to this idiot?

The thought squeezed at her heart with an electric hand.

'It's only because he's sleeping. Definitely. If he were awake and his mouth were open…' England visibly relaxed. He may be beautiful, but there was no way England could possibly think of Alfred as anything more than a bodyguard. Simply no way.

* * *

"Mornin'," America yawned cheerfully.

"It's still nighttime, Alfred," Australia called.

"Oh… well then, good night!"

"You idiot…" England sighed. She slowed walking alongside the horse to look at America. "How are you feeling?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm kind of cold and really hungry, but other than that I'm fine." America's sky blue gaze fell on England's slumping posture. Groggy eyes met his under blonde eyelashes, pale and shivering with fatigue. A note of concern rang in America's voice. "You, on the other hand, look like you're about to pass out."

"N-no, I'm alright, I can fare a few …more… miles…" England struggled to say, exhaustion finally settling on her by the mention, the slight implication, of resting. And though she pressed on and tried to shrug it off, the weight was realized, strapped to her back, and far too heavy to carry.

"England," America frowned. "Here." He gestured the Princess closer and patted the saddle.  
England tensed.

"Wh-what?" The princess scrambled for an excuse. "Y-You can't get up from there, you'll reopen the wound!" She insisted.

"That doesn't mean you should just keep going when there's no way you can make it another mile! Come here, England, you can sleep here."

The blanket hollow under his right arm, America made a cave inviting in his arms. It was clear that he expected her to mount and crawl in it shamelessly, a warm and sweet embrace she couldn't recognize. The Princess blushed.

"Wh-h-how, how is the horse…?" England faltered, swallowing the erupting butterflies and turning away. Just in case one escaped.

Rudest of words wedged themselves into England's sentence. "Let me worry about it. Shut up and get up here." A tempting sugary grin beckoned. What could make her weaker? Kindness was kryptonite. America unleashed his left hand to reach for England.  
Every centimeter robbed a bit of her breath.  
The water level rose rapidly, the ceiling not too far from England's head. America loosened the faucet valve as far as it would go, spilling as much water as possible into the room. Protesting was futile, the sadism of water's master too overpowering to influence. As soon as America's arm snaked around England's waist, she could feel herself drowning. Immersed in nothing but sweet, uncompromising, deadly blue, England could not move, could not breathe.

"Alfred, th-this isn't p-proper!" England cried shakily, free of all inhibition, for America ripped the lines connecting her to her self-control.

But America ignored England's wavering, underwater shrieks, knowing that if he siphoned them she would eventually silence.  
Her body slipped perfectly into the curve of the warm saddle. Wool softly wrapped around her back. Pressed into the firm chest of the young knight, England stiffened with embarrassment and stomach ached from the overindulgence. Shudders erupted from her sprinting heart.

America felt her tighten and loosen in his arms, and with a pensive mouth asked, "Are you warm enough?"  
He pulled away slightly to look into her shivering green eyes.

"I-I… yes…" She gave up speech, having already suffocated. The eyes were a reminder, the pace of her heart quickening when that shade of blue hit her mind full force. The same color of the water she drowned in, owned by the same lovely face.

America retracted his arms, noticing the Princess' trembling uncertainty and discomfort. He knew if she was fully conscious, not a bit of her would agree to this intimate contact, but she was under languor's influence. Soothing, calming, rich and sweet words glazed America's tongue, and even from a distance England could taste them, just by hearing them England's mouth could water. She became like a child who'd never felt sweetness on the tip of her tongue, but was now face to face with an apple pie waiting for permission to eat.  
He ran a hand through her hair, making her stiffer than ever.

"It's okay, England, I'm trained for this stuff. Why are you worrying? You're safe with me."  
Those intoxicating whispers. Her heart dipped into America's chocolate words.  
Was it strange to want to drown again?

"Good night your majesty."

* * *

England's breathing slowed. Curled up around America, her leg laid on top of the knight's hip, England finally slept, finally lax in her discomforting proximity to America. For good measure, America touched the Princess' back tenderly.  
Then, he slipped out from under her body. No longer held on his back by the sleeping princess, America reached for the reins of his horse and turned to Australia. The older knight nodded and galloped in front of him.

Night and time fled by them in clattering neighs and winds. Trees and animals flit past and the hills were on the horizon.  
However, once the limestone echo of horseshoes hit the knight's eardrums, they knew something was wrong. Rock crumbled slightly under Carrie's foot and America's brow furrowed instantly.

"Shit."

A drop-off point.

Australia pulled out the map with a grimace.

"What do we do now?" America asked.

An exasperated sigh slid out from under Australia's lungs. "We'll follow it until it levels out," he shrugged. "Hopefully it won't be too far, but who knows. The map doesn't note this one. It could run all the way to the Diamonds' border."

America's eyes widened. "Fuck, the border?! You're kidding!" he cried, and whipped his head around in rigid disbelief. "That's almost two weeks from the Capitol!"

"A week and five days, yeah." The older knight responded, and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "That depends on whether or not we can even go the fast route. If worse comes to worse, we may have to go island hopping. I can't imagine what would happen to us that would force us to do that though."

"For God's sake, no more sailing. I don't think Carrie and Bartholomew can take it." The younger returned, rubbing the side of his horse in sympathy. Set back by the space England possessed on Carrie's back, America couldn't quite reach his horse's mane, or behind her ears where he knew she liked to be petted. Carrie's heavy breathing and occasional whines tensed her owner. He knew she was being worked fairly hard, and he knew she needed food and water and rest, but he feared that they just did not have the time to stop whenever they were hungry.  
His stomach growled just by thinking of food.

"Don't worry girl," he whispered, "When we get back to the castle, you and I will have a _feast_. Just hold on for now."

Australia did his own observing while America mumbled to his horse. Propped up on his friend's cotton and muscle chest slept a normally prudent princess. She seemed to fit perfectly in the crevice between America's body in the horse, half-lying down, half-sitting up, her arms wrapped around the knight's lower back. If she knew what she was doing right now, if they told her how she had slept when she woke up… he knew America wouldn't be able to resist her inevitable reaction.

Australia chuckled. "She's clinging to you like you're an overgrown teddybear."

America frowned playfully. "Am I not an overgrown teddybear? I'm cute and cuddly!"

"And childish and you look stuffed all the time, so yes." Australia smirked.

"Wha-a-t?" America whined. "I'm fit!"

"You mean fat." A finger accused.

America pouted. "England's rubbing off on you."

With a smile, his friend turned back to the road and mused, "I wonder when she'll realize you're America?"

The playful pout morphed into a disconcerted frown. "I hope she doesn't. I want to tell her myself."

"If you do, she'll kill you." Australia remarked cynically, his eyes like brown bugs crawling only partly towards his friend.

"I have a feeling getting killed is unavoidable. I'm just postponing it for now." The younger laughed nervously.

The princess fidgeted in America's lap, bothered by the loud noise.

"Ha, we might want to hush now, England's getting restless," Australia cautioned with a grin.

"Yeah." America nodded in agreement.

"But Australia?" He called soon thereafter.

"Hm?" The older knight grunted, falling back to America's side.

Happiness sedated his blue eyes as he stared down at England's sleeping form. "I think she likes me."

Australia scoffed. "Oh please. She hardly knows you." He pulled the reins of his horse to the side, gesturing for America to follow suit. "You're _sexy_, she knows that." He drenched the sentence with sarcasm.

America was unfazed. "But I know her, so I know exactly what to say to reach her heart!" He responded enthusiastically, tapping his own heart.

Australia was unimpressed. "Do you now?"

"Huurr, what do you know about love?" America replied snarkily.

But the older knight didn't take the comment lightly. His head snapped around on his neck.  
"Are you trying to romance the Princess?" Australia's apprehensive voice shredded like rubber. "You do realize she's obligated to marriage?"

America jolted in shock. "I'm not trying to, uh, _woo_ anyone!" America squeaked defensively. He turned his gaze to England's head, avoiding Australia's reproachful stare and mumbled, "I care about her, though, you know, I care about her happiness."

"Hm." His friend grumbled, his head ticking to the front like the minute hand on a clock.  
Then, America looked up.

"Wait a second, I'm sexy?" He asked bewilderingly.

Australia smirked. "I'm sexier."

"…Shuuuuut up!"  
The friends had to muffle their laughter after an agitated England twitched and groaned and twisted around further into America's chest.

"Shh! Shh! No reason to get riled up over the obvious!" Australia snickered.

"We, we should be quiet for England now." America hushed.

"Yeah." Australia nodded, and continued on to lead his friend with a grin.

"Oh, wait, Australia!" America called.

"Again?" The knight swiveled around. "What?"

"Take the lantern." The fire swung in the air, and Australia reached out to accept its guidance. The boys shared an understanding, friendly, flickering smile, its beam contesting the light of the flame. Then, the orange glow fled from America's face and once again he was alone with his horse's clicking gallops and England's soft breathing.

* * *

Peals of early morning sun paled the dark gray clouds with thin watercolors.  
Raindrops drummed the leaves, chorusing into a symphony of setbacks for the disgruntled knights. America ran a hand through his wet hair, and sighed, echoing the grumbling coming from his poor, tired horse.  
Taking refuge under a train of shadowing trees, the knights plowed on as far as they could go, especially before the ground became too muddy to ride on and with the clouds stretching the way they were, Australia predicted that would be soon.

England was still asleep, and remained so through the start of the downpour and the following stream of shouts and curse words. Her sleeping form began to tremble though, chilly from the wind and the dampened blanket. America cradled the princess in the crook of his arm, protecting her Majesty from the rain. He was amazed at how deeply she slept, and whispered so.

Rock fell upon rock, carving out the curve in the cliff. Rainwater dripped and drifted upon their stony faces, ghosting a waterfall on the stationary rocks. The cracked ground sent the blond horse and her party stumbling in a wave of buttery mane. The Princess jolted from her slumber and, with a groan, sent her eyelashes aflutter.  
The first hit of handsome honey blond and blue struck her like her first drink of wine. A chill ran down her back. She gasped, and felt as if she were enduring a spike to the stomach.

"Mornin' again!" America sang.

"Now it really is morning though," Australia added, removing his bag of nuts from his pack again.

"Did you sleep well?" America asked, getting his horse closer to Australia's so he could steal some of his food.

England stared up at the knight blankly as he went about his cheerful gait. The longer she went without responding, the denser her American protectorate proved himself to be, bending and twisting, all with a smile.  
At last, the Princess snapped, "What are you doing sitting up like that? Didn't I say you'd reopen your wounds?"

America didn't even spare her a glance. "Yeah, whatever, are you hungry? Thirsty?" His voice clicked up an octave at the questions, Australia extending the bag to his friend.

England sat up and turned to face America. "Alfred, if my sleeping here jeopardizes your health, then you should have just let me keep walking! I would have fared just fine!" She scolded with an incriminating mouth, but her eyes piqued with concern.

The oblivious remained so, ignorance tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
England's shoulders dropped.

"Ah, speaking of sleeping, our friend Australia needs a little bit of that right about now, wouldn't you say?" America prompted his friend, turning his head towards the brunette on his left.

A sigh slid from Australia's mouth. "Yeah, looong night…"

America nodded considerately. "And that's just the truth. Let's settle down for a while." He turned to his disgruntled princess, whose fingernails dipped into America's arm.  
England pursed her lips.

"Fine, if you want to drop it, fine, but you aren't going to ride a horse again." She glanced away, growling, "If your wounds bust open, I'm not healing you, stupid."

Wishing to give the horses a rest, the knights slid off of their backs and allowed them to near the streaming waterfall to drink. America rocked England out of his hold and onto the floor, seeing her apparent discomfort at their closeness. Just as the flustered Princess staggered to her feet, America announced his intention to go hunting for the group during Australia's nap. England grappled at the ends of her dress, and felt around the packs for her bow, mumbling about what she would do if it had broken, if it had been lost. Through muffled words and apathetic pats, she tried to avoid any suspicion by America that she might accompany him on his escapade.

It wasn't that she really wanted to follow him, she mused, defending herself in front of an imaginary prosecutor.  
She just felt obliged to make sure that the likelihood of him dying was slim, she reasoned to an invisible jury.  
Because Lord knows what that stupid knight would do to himself if he were all alone in the woods, she concluded, staring deeply into the face of the make-believe judge, who raised her gavel to deliver her orders.  
The jurors were unconvinced, smiling among themselves, as they were all too aware of what the defendant was not.

"Looking for something?" Australia chimed, pulling England from her reeling thoughts. A shake of the wrist brought to England's attention her most precious and invested creation.

"Oh, my bow!" She caught a breath she didn't know was missing. "Thank you, Australia."

"Have fun!" Australia encouraged, receiving a tiny smile from his princess. "But don't make out!"  
At this both of Australia's companions tightened. Shock bloomed embarrassing red bouquets on each cheek, leading to flustered defensive stammers from England, and standoffish evading gazes from America.

Australia laughed heartily and advised his friends to loosen up. With an exhausted wave and steps in opposite directions, Australia was to bed and the pair was off to harvest dinner.

* * *

The white wind and the burning orange sun tumbled around in an endless red black sky, kissing the stained glass men receiving its light. Inside the hearts of stone and fire, the pale glasses and vibrant colors that bled with stains covered the indescribable space, bathing Gothic brimstone in elements foreign to its grisly façade. This eerie environment creaked on its hinges, iron tendrils coiling into and out of the ceiling animatedly. It was as if every moving atom was visible in the palace detached from reality, where cats colored purple and red and green walked upon the ceiling and answered to no master. In a swirling universe drifted this enigmatic phantasma in which potential energy had physical form, and invisibility did not constitute something as non-existent. In fact, creatures desired invisibility, and wore it like a fashionable cloak.  
A mouse of strange shape ran up an ornate grandfather clock embedded into the wall. It ticked to time unbeknownst to humans, numbers of foreign shape scratched onto its rounded surface. But the hands continuously twitched and ticked, waiting for their chance to sing the hour to those they served.

In the center of the room lay a boy troubled with boredom and idleness, blue eyes wishing to explore a world beyond, brown hair aching to feel winds of unimaginable colors run hands through it. He sighed and scratched his eyebrow.

Legends warn wayward boys that if they do not behave they shall be forever cursed and banished to live in this peculiar hell by the devil himself, and this particular boy knew those legends to be false.  
However, there were exceptions.

If you were born to an insufferable family and answered to an insurmountably repugnant witch for a sister, it was very hard to keep your nose out of trouble. It was even harder to accurately predict how exactly every antic or mischief you got into would play out. And you probably could never imagine just what terrible effect your trouble-making could have on an entire country, your sister, and how dishonored your family would be. How insecure your mother would become, how hateful your father would act would just be the falling action speeding towards the absolute worst possible conclusion for you.

You would lay eyes on your sister, heir to the throne.  
Reputed witch, civil servant; she must take action against her kingdom's public enemy number one.  
In what seems so brief and so trivial as a wave of the hand, the world will stop around you. A blue light will encompass your presence and you have no choice but to stand still and listen to your sister's somber chanting, cold eyes digging deep into your soul. All you wish for is to run, to hide, to cry and apologize, or turn back time, but you cannot; you can only listen to your eardrums reciprocate your heartbeats in a tempo no mortal can physically perform.

Then, the awful, beating, hounding light would form a horrifying, bony hand and reach into you, relieving you of the one thing all humans hold dearest: mortality.  
And you would see it held out to you, floating there, so pure and innocent and perfect, staring back at you as if it does not quite understand what is happening, or why. Why are you leaving it? Are you coming back for it?  
Your sister will begin speaking as you stare at your humanity, your life straight in the face, and every ominous word will wash you in lemon juice until your entire body stings from the acid.  
She will detail your crime; relive it for you, to generously provide you with the reason you are being banished and receiving the utmost in punishment. She will forever strip you of your royal title, affirm you disgraced, and finally, the witch will grab your mortality by the neck and whisk it away from you, rendering you senseless and immortally undead.

And then in a minute, before you even catch a tear fall from her eye, you are thrown in here, in the cascading cathedral where the outside swirls in cards and impossibilities and tendrils of iron trees that sprout sideways. Frivolities and companionship are nonexistent in this new world, and you find that it is designed to be inescapable.

All you wish to do is go home.

You ask questions. Like why your magically inept sister was the one to exile you rather than your more powerful mother. You can't help but feel that your mother still wants you, and your sister had no legal strength to banish you. You wish you could ask, you want to scream, and you grow to vehemently hate your sister.

Years go by and you are finally made to realize that you will never return home.  
But at the same time, you discover two things that will turn your new-found remorse and distraught into sparkling enthusiasm you were conditioned to forget: Another man banished and with him, a way into the living world.

* * *

"What the hell, Alfred!?"

"Hm?" Mouth full, deer steak brandished, America merrily pulled large tears of meat, bubbles of berries and the rare vegetable around him. The food piled atop one another in a sandwiching display never before seen by the Princess, who was aptly horrified by the knight consistently shoveling food into mouth to temporarily satisfy his bottomless pit of a stomach.

"Do you understand just how much you're eating?!" she exclaimed, rather bewildered and disgusted, "We all need to eat, you know!"

Azure eyes settled on her vacantly. Staring, America swallowed and reached slowly for another strip of meat. Waiting until England blinked, he pounced, quickly snatching up the rabbit and rocketing his hand to his mouth. Senses alerted, England struck America's hand, causing him to drop the meat. Gasping, the opponents lashed out to save the rabbit, but ended up tangling their limbs instead, their food bouncing into the grass.  
The group just stared at it.  
Then, America's hand broke the silence, swooping down and reclaiming the tainted product as its own, thrusting it wholeheartedly into America's mouth. England, repulsed and terrified, looked on.

"Calm down, England, he needs to regain blood." Australia observed, returning to his own loud chewing, snatching a few choice items from America's stack.

America smiled, energetically resurged by his supporter. "Yeah, England." He reiterated.

England ignored America's cocky prods, turning to Australia, "I understand, but this is just ridiculous!"

As usual, the oblivious knight paid no mind to England's ignoring him, declaring with a mouth half-full, "I can share if you're hungry, England! At a price of course, but at least I'm offering!"

England growled. "Price! The nerve…" Eyes narrowed, she glanced off to the side, mouth puckered in distaste. "Alright, what do you want?"

"Hmm," A high-pitched hum left America's throat, quickly replaced by a swig of water. Australia shoved his hand into America's arm, gesturing for the canteen. With a drop and a push the exchange was over, Australia downing the water in mere seconds in a show that put England to thinking that perhaps America and Australia were equally obnoxious when it came to eating. Entranced with thought, the blue-eyed knight stared pensively at Australia. Swiping his mouth with his hand, the older knight glanced upon America and met his stare. Exaggeratedly, he jumped back and raised a large eyebrow to the golden-haired knight. Trance broken, America couldn't help but laugh, and all of a sudden the overcrowded train of thought released all of its passengers. Turning back to a frowning England, America offered apologetically, "I actually can't think of anything right now. So how about an IOU, then?" The proceeding grin gave his words a strange texture.

England writhed, avoiding his gaze.

"That unnerves me a bit…"

"That's the right reaction." Australia hummed solemnly, much to America's disbelief.

Young hands flung to their master's defense. "What? My favors aren't that bad!" America croaked, but his companion just laughed.

"'Australiaaaa! Australia, help me! My ankle's ca-ug-ht in th-is stir-rup a-nd I ca-n't get out, Carrie's dr-agging me, help you ass!" Australia mocked; stuttering appropriately each time America's chest hit the ground.

Unhappy by this exploit of his lesser charming moments, America punched his friend in the arm. Australia warbled in hyperbolic pain, and then returned the favor, shoving America forcefully.

"And then! And then, 'I can do it, go away Australia', when you jumped into the climbing pit all by yourself and couldn't climb back out! You were too damn stubborn and it was a whole day before I walked by and heard your stomach growl. Knowing you, I accepted that as a surrender, and threw you down a rope. You were so flushed in the face!"

England smiled as the two knights began to roughhouse, doused in laughter.

"That reminds me of a day when I was younger and America got stuck in a tree and he was so scared of jumping down and hurting himself that he refused to get off of it." His name paralyzed. America ceased playing, now burdened by recollections of memories long gone, the shared past of two people who had grown so differently, and so deeply apart that resurfacing the events just made the knight realize how far detached he had become from what once was, and what England still suspected as truth.  
Also, he wasn't eager to risk any suspicion about his true identity. He had to remain wary, lest he be forced to tell England the truth.

Australia's eyes lit up, picking up on America's tension. "Oh, really, tell me more," He taunted, looking mischievously at the younger knight.

"Shut up, or I'll hit you," America hissed with a pouting mouth and narrow gaze.

Australia just grinned and settled on England to begin her story.

"Alright, so America is in the tree for about four hours now. He isn't budging, no matter what I bribe him with or send to bother with him, and I'm starting to get irritated. I leave him alone for about ten minutes to do some work, but then I hear him crying, and I can't just leave the child sobbing like that," England recalled, sparkling and animated with a lively interest absent from her normative speech.

'I wasn't sobbing…' America's thoughts moped, sulkiness repressed only by will from possessing his features as well.

"So I went to retrieve him," England continued, "I held out my arms to him and called for him to jump and assured that I would definitely catch him. He was still afraid, worried that I wouldn't be strong enough or my arms would slip, things of that sort. But I eventually coaxed him out with the promise of food." A chuckle fled her lips. "The minute I said 'beef', he hit the ground running."

Guffaws reverberated in Australia's lungs, making America giggle alongside him at his own expense.

"Seriously, I'm not a pig," America whispered to Australia. The older knight shot him a disbelieving look and his lips curled into a smirk.

"Haha! I'm sure there's another story, right?" The smirk egged on, leaving America struggling for composure. "Let's keep going!"

"Well, there was that time that America jumped in a pond and almost drowned, and-"

The pressure was becoming unbearable. The younger knight had to interject. "Ah, uh, quick question? Why are all of these stories um, about America?"

Stammers in speech made the heart stammer as well. England's face flushed pink, scrambling for a white response. "…Oh. Well, I… I… A-are you implying something?" She resorted to accusing, unsure of how to stop her affections from seeping into her words.

America blushed as well, taken aback with the affront, and not sure how to respond to how badly the question was received. "What? No! It was a totally innocent question, why are you reacting this way?" He bristled, confused and thirsting for clarification.

Deadlocked in tense, pursing eye contact with the knight, England could do nothing but try to offer a half-hearted answer, giving a thirsted man no more than a dropper full of water. "I-I'm sorry, I just… I don't… There's no particular reason, really, I mean, it's not like he's any more special than… w-wait, no, that's not right! I mean," She stuttered and stumbled weakly.

The thickness of the atmosphere could only be matched in the thickness of a knight's head, it seems, as Australia interrupted in familiar fashion, "I want to hear about how America can't swim."

Fire flickered off of America's scowl. "Shut up Australia, you aren't seeing my, I mean his, err _our_ side here."  
Curses reverberated in the knight's head, shaking and stumbling to recover the ground he hoped England didn't notice he lost. If there was no suspicion before, this American-made hole tore right through any potential blockage to England's doubtful nature.

America glanced frailly at the Princess, whose face etched apprehension.  
"What do you mean by 'our'? Are you seriously saying _you_ can't swim?" She asked incredulously, very intrigued by the thought of a knight who couldn't wade.

America huffed, annoyed. "N-no! I mean as kids! I mean! Ah, forget it. Australia, you should get some sleep."

The older knight beat a hand to his chest in a show of incredulity. "What, I just took a nap!" He cried in protest.

"And a nap it was, now go to sleep, we've got to get moving early tomorrow morning." England supplied. Wool and fleece met rugged tan face by the hands of a laughing America.  
"And I hope we run till late tomorrow night. Let's make the most progress we can, Mr. Navigator," America added, and proceeded to do everything to get Australia into bed besides tuck him in and read him a bedtime story.

After a relentless pursuit, Australia gave in to his friend's demands out of sheer annoyance and found himself asleep in less than ten minutes.

Alone with the damp evening, America and England fled the campsite to leave Australia in peace. Against the humid, biting air dashed the man-made wind, the two clipping their heels on the rocky cliff. The waterfall beneath them still trickled on wearily, wet jagged rocks dropping to a gravelly, muddy landing down below. America spun down them with a gazelle's grace, easily and swiftly, landing at the bottom with no problem. For the Princess, however, just looking down made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The chasm corkscrewed into an abyss, fearful eyes playing games and distorting reality.

"O-oh, Alfred, I can't…" She called nervously, but America's beaming smile cut through the foggy sunset darkness, and beckoned her to slide down with him.

"Would you like me to come get you, your Majesty?" He asked, and plastered a condescending smile on his face. "I thought that you would at least be able to climb down some rocks by yourself, talking about how powerful you are-"

England flushed with anger, and furrowed her eyebrows.  
Indignation achieved.

"What, you think I'm not good enough to get down these rocks? I'll show you the power of the Monarchy!" England blistered furiously, pinching up the pleats of her dress.  
Her slippers padded down the rocks, slipping and sliding around as she fumblingly descended to the riverbed. Near the last rock she collapsed to her knees, and all but slid to her stomach, green fabric stretching as she gripped the end of the rock for balance, her knuckles white with exertion. A whimper wedged out of her trembling mouth, but she grit her teeth and scrambled to her feet, only to slip down and crash onto the final rock. America rushed to England's side, the Princess laying on her back and seething in pain.

"Aw, England," America crooned, falling to her side, but he was met with a searing glare.

"D-on't pity me, Alfred," the Princess snarled, propping herself up on her elbows. From the gravel and mud she rose like a ragged, dirt-covered phoenix. America smiled and walked onto the riverbed, removing his boots for the first time in a while and soaking his feet in its body. He assigned hand call for England to sit with him, and hesitantly she did, stripping her feet and dipping her own toes into the icy water.

"Wow, this is cold, oh my." A minnow nibbled at her toes, and the princess was quick to splash her feet from its mouth, making America laugh.  
Her nose found her knee and her head tilted to the side avoiding the knight's laughter. Along with it her gaze substituted the deep green vines and pink tufting blossoms along the side of the cliff, the smooth waterfall whispering its flow into the stream. The reds and pinks and oranges of the sunset highlighted every flowers proud beauty, dancing to and fro through cracks of rocks, crannies in which the ferns had been too ditzy to find. Even the humidity seemed little to bear with in the presence of such natural beauty.

"It's pretty, huh?" America calmly broke the trickling silence.

England rolled over her shoulder, a joyful glint in her green eyes. "That is an understatement. The fairies have really outdone themselves with this." She replied softly, skepticism registering on America's face.

"Fairies, again, England?" He asked, eyebrow raised, and as if she had been prodded with a stick in the back, the princess shot up and wrenched around to look at her companion with pressing brows.  
"What are you implying?!"

Ignoring the question with the same facetiousness as usual, America joked, "Actually, England, I think I may have come in contact with a fairy."

"Really?" England looked pleasantly surprised that she had supposedly misread his doubt. "Where?"

"The other day, I was eavesdropping on you and Australia talking about m… America, and something soft brushed across my face." America gestured to his cheek animatedly, and his eyes were so bright and full of unreasonable naïveté that it was hard for England to take him seriously.

"Sure that wasn't just a spider?" The Princess tried not to chuckle at her companion's unawareness, only to be enlightened to her own. "Wait a second you were eavesdropping!?" She pointed, but as usual, her question was completely disregarded as America went on cheerfully.

"Haha, I thought of that too but want to know what? I smacked my face right after that and there was nothing there." He pointed to his hand with a smile.

England's eyelids dropped. "Why am I not surprised that you just ignored me. Or eavesdropped, for that matter." She muttered taunting losing its entertainment value. "I bet it felt like a kiss on the cheek, too, eh."

America's eyes widened in childish wonder. "Oh my god, how'd you know? It was totally like that!"

Contagious childish wonder invaded England's face as well, and for minutes of excitable conversation, it filled the air like an aroma, its enthusiastic side effects bouncing to and from America and England. "R-really?! Oh my god, Alfred, that _was_ a fairy encounter! Only the luckiest people have fairy encounters, you know."

"Oh please, it was probably just waiting for you." He shrugged, but England's shaking head refuted.

"Or pollinating the berries!" The Princess exclaimed, but America continued to challenge the possibility of a fairy encounter.

"Isn't that bees' job?"

"Bees are fairy pets, Alfred." England informed lightly, "This is so cool, Alfred, usually it's only magicians who have the privilege of coming across fairies." She began to gesture as wildly as America.

"I know a song about fairies, actually," England proclaimed with a proud wag of her finger, and in the spirit of the conversation, America asked the unwanted question.

"Sing it to me." Or rather, ordered the undesired command.

England's mouth crashed into a dubious smirk, her musical words souring, "And why would I entertain such a request?"

America frowned. "Because the most I know about fairies is… nothing actually. And I may tell some completely uninformed story to tons of children someday about a girl and her fairy godmother and make it all up as I go. For what I know, the Fairy Godmother would sing and dance and say 'Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo' waving around sparkly magic stick. And I know how hard that would grind your gears, England. So do yourself a favor and show me up this once while I'm asking for it."

The loosely justifying monologue burned England's arrogant eyes. The princess nodded, recognizing her own reluctance to have her fairies portrayed ridiculously.

"Touché. All right, as you wish." And her agreement rang into a soothing melody that slipped into the curvaceous song of the softly clattering waterfall.

At the end of the song, America laid upon the ground serenely, a soft smile on his face. Green eyes opened again and fixated upon this tiny, mischievous smile warily until it began to move.

"Oh, you didn't hear my other reason for wanting to hear you sing." America lilted as if it were any other perfectly normal sentence, but England's stomach knotted anxiously.

"Other reason? And what would that be? To play some dirty trick on me to make me look foolish?" She accused with taut lips, but seized completely upon having her heart squeezed by America's incomparable charm.

"Your voice is beautiful." He cajoled.

England's mouth went dry. This scene barreled straight from a romance novel, pretending it had a place in reality, and that England was destined to be its heroine, but the Princess could not even formulate a sentence to satisfy even the weakest romance enthusiast or the likes of a dreaming child. Instead, she went clammy at the sudden flattery.

"Wh-what?" She stammered, the hammer of her heart beating on her throat.

"Your voice is beautiful." America repeated.

* * *

Cement peeled apart at the pale strong hands of a sighing man. Starry vortex behind his boot, white hair and red eyes hung disappointedly on the German's head. He zipped up the wormhole and flicked his hood from his head, revealing the tagging horns bestowed upon the banished Cards, the troublesome taunters left without game, the Jokers.

"Ahhh, another failed day at trying to make the King of Hearts scream…" he sighed, stained glass shimmering above his head. The brown-haired boy on the ground suspended his chess game with the green-dotted cat, turning to look upon the albino.

"Prussia, as his brother you should just how difficult it is to make Germany scream. Unless it's at Italy." The boy pointed with a black pawn in his hand.

Prussia's face fell into a pitying frown. "I know, poor Italy! He doesn't deserve to be treated so badly. At least I can take West's energy from far away." He noted, musing to himself

"Kissy, kissy, kissy!" The child taunted, queening his pawn, much to the cat's shock and dismay.

"Ah, shut your trap." Prussia shot back, kicking his other boot across the room and sliding with a rubbery squeak to the East wall. Placing his ear onto the wall, he tapped its face and upon hearing a ring, the Joker reached into its surface and unzipped a kitchen. He grumbled and resealed the wall, knocking on its face again.

"I know. Everyone knows it's Hungary you like." The boy grinned teasingly, but exclaimed in remorse when the cat tapped his rook with the seat of her bishop.

"Sealand!" Prussia spat angrily, but the child just laughed. The albino now begrudgingly reached into the cement wall once more and with the swipe of his hand, revealed a laboratory. He groaned.

"Why do you have such luck with these portals but I don't? All I want to do is get into the pure energy safe!"

"Why don't you just call it the pantry?" Sealand responded with a particular aversion, rising from his spot and coming to his elder's assistance. Two taps and a swipe revealed a large orange stone door. A pale hand grasped its lever and slammed it open, cloudy refrigeration slithering outside.

"There you are, pure energy, reaped right from the throats of humans." Sealand announced, and swiveled around to resume his chess match.

Jars sat in zigzagging shelves, glowing red and green and blue and yellow, their labels only readable in their own light and their own tongue. Snatched first was a bright green jar, energy spiraling and jumping to its own humming rendition of Beethoven. Prussia grinned contentedly, seeming to almost salivate as he unscrewed the jar. "If anyone's screams could taste as delightful as Austria's, I'd be surprised." The older Joker called from the refrigerator, sucking in the pianist's energy straight from the jar in a more than self-satisfactory manner.  
He ate these so quickly that Sealand hardly ever tasted Austria's screams, not that he had a taste for them. He didn't exactly understand what sadistic thrill Prussia got from harvesting the Jack of Clubs' shrieks and pain, but he did not question it, as he had to admit to having his own favorite flavors of mortal energy.

"You have strange taste. I've always wished to taste England's screams."

Screams were the easiest harvest, so fear lined their shelves. Labeled by kingdom sat the shrieks of the countries of the Deck from ones to Kings, only combated by the extremely rare delicacy of heavy laughter and the bitter root flavor of angry shouts. Unsurprisingly, Germany filled those shelves with red jars.  
Prussia inspected a blue pot, tasting a rather thin and flaky Chinese scream. He dipped into a Diamonds container; not bothering to read the label as he figured it could only be France's, and returned to conversing with Sealand.

"…Do you have a thing for him or something? I mean, I get that the whole sorcery thing leaves him practically oozing with energy-" Prussia asked uneasily, a commonplace Italian scream on his thumb.

"Didn't I tell you that I want revenge on him?" Sealand shrieked, knocking a pawn to the board with his bishop. "I find it especially delightful that that arse doesn't know he's a guy!"

"_Unobtainable_ energy, as a matter of fact… wait, what?" Shock slammed the brakes on Prussia's speech. "Whoa, whoa, little buddy, maybe 'ass' is too far?" He entreated, sliding from the pantry with three jars.

Sealand glared at the chessboard.

"I will make him so miserable and so terrified that he'll ripen so well that when I suck all of the energy out of him, he'll shrivel up and there will be nothing left. No energy even to make energy! Absolute Zero!" He howled, gripping his queen until his knuckles paled in exertion. His anger and betrayal swirled in his throat and cascaded into the pit of his stomach, becoming an abysmal intensity from which he could not claw out. He was lost to his desire for revenge, a child's bright-eyed eager innocence corrupting and eroding by the horns that poked from his head.

"Just fire isn't enough. I want his sadness, his fear; every emotion that can be extreme must be extreme! I want his absolute demise!"

A snap of wood sent the neck of the queen into splinters, the crown flying and sliding into the floor without stopping. Ebony cascaded into the darkness at the mercy of the never-ending vortex of the Joker universe; without physics, without laws, the queen fell endlessly, endlessly, never to resurface.

* * *

**End Chapter Ten.**

* * *

_Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday dear Sam~! Happy birthday to me! Hooooraaaay!_

_Went to a debate tournament last weekend, so this update is a lil' late, but thank you for your patience and sweetness, you guys rock. I'll be at another tournament next weekend, so don't expect updates. Not that you can expect a periodical update time with me._

_Wow, 20 pages in Microsoft Word. I applaud you for getting through this one. This particular chapter is rather peculiar, as it takes the form of two chapters in one: Outlining the condition of the Jokers, and America/England/Australia travel (and of course, character and romance development.) I miss France, and I want to wedge France in somewhere, so expect a little l'amour et savoir-faire in the next chapter._

_England singing to America clearly didn't change a damn thing; he and Disney still had their fun with fairies. Shout-out to Disney Classic Cinderella, which comes out for the first time on Blu-Ray soon.  
__And now a close to this extremely long chapter after a long wait with an equally long Author's Note. Goodbye, and thank you so much for reviewing! ~Sam_


	11. 11 Acid and Electricity

**Knight **

**11**

The wind twisting through dank forest did nothing for the Princess blanketed by the cold. She shivered as its dripping wet fingers grazed her arms.

"Why… would you," England mumbled, eyes locked with the ground, "s-say something like that?"

"It's true," America stated bluntly, falling back on the rocky ground and exposing his wet bare feet. He kicked at the sky, his feet slipping into the water with every downcast. As trademark, the young knight decided to redirect the flow of conversation, "England, when people came over to the palace did you bother to get to know them?"

Flaring temper shot a searing glare as England snapped, "Are you really going to argue with me again?!", balling her fists.

"You're a little firecracker, aren't you?" the knight laughed. England stiffened, face pinking. "No, I just really want to know if, you know, when you were young you talked to other people like we're talking right now," America softened.

England's fists slowly unraveled. The ground looked less than inviting to lay on, but America's gaze reeled her in like a fisherman's line. Covered from the algae-eaten rock by her dress, England lay on the floor with her head propped up by her elbow. She said, "Only if they talked to me first. The only people who would strike conversation with me while visiting the palace were France and Spain, and that was always unpleasant. So I guess the answer is not really."

America cocked his head slightly. "Why didn't you, you know, make the first move?" He asked, eloquent words eluding.

"I was a child and a girl. I wasn't allowed to do anything of the sort."

A small, confused frown stitched itself into America's face. Those stitches could not hold for long, as America continued to spill whatever came to his mouth without thought, "But, you're a princess? I don't understand, I was allowed to talk to anyone I pleased. Once you left, we had all kinds of people come over to the castle, people the Spades monarchy bribed to give them inside information, be our informants. Apparently, there were all of these conspiracies against us."

Solemnly, England tolled, "There still are. It's part of being a Kingdom, constantly at war whether it be with words or with guns."

Thin golden eyebrows mimicked a frowning mouth, and America's face scrunched into his cheeks. "That's depressing."

"It's a reality you have to face when you're the monarch," England replied, distant in both her eyes and voice. "You can't really feel attached to your subjects, because they're unfortunate pawns in political warfare. If the other teams play dirty, so must you and that's just the way it works." She rubbed her arm nonchalantly, receiving a scorned, stunned look from America.

"That sounds…. wrong." His soft double-edged words meant to ask why.

England refused to answer. "I know."

The frown flattened with forceful suppression, America electing to leave the dropped question uncontested for now. The knight sat up and went on, "I liked talking to these guys, 'cause they were just normal people. Even China was constantly serious and back then, Australia was kind of a dick, so it was these dudes I'd spend most of my time with. They told me so much about the other kingdoms."

"Mm?" England hummed, demonstrating she was listening though staring up at the starring sky.

"Like, the Diamonds' Kingdom, apparently their king is a lech," England snickered at this comment. America continued, "And the palace is covered in diamonds—real diamonds, carats and all. And the Hearts Kingdom? Border to border tomato farms, even though Queen Japan and King Germany hate them! Oh and the things they would say about Clubs…" America raised his arms and snickered. England was slightly intrigued. Though she knew all of these things, coming from the knight's mouth they seemed far more fascinating and outlandish than they ever appeared in the textbooks or even in the flesh.

"Ah? What of them?" She inquired, leaning in to America's vivacious gestures.

He spoke in a hushed whisper, as if he were keeper of a great and terrible secret and was wary of being overheard. "Apparently, the Clubs Kingdom has a secret 'closet' building in the Northern Domain where they hide all of the bad things from King Russia's past. I want to see it someday. It seems like that guy never had a good life." He added the last line with a hint of pity and straightened his back.

"The history of that country is something," England offered, looking back at the stars. "He's even older than I am."

America smiled wryly. "Aren't there a lot of countries older than you?"

The princess lit up. "What a sweet compliment!"

America laughed. "Oh England, how old are you anyway?"

England's smile faded. "Of all questions, why that one? Why not ask me about the other countries?"

The slightly mocking grin never left America's lips, his tone suggesting that the answer was remarkably obtrusive, "Because being a member of the monarchy, your opinion's going to be biased."

"W-Well, I-" England scrambled for an argument, but America silenced her with sweet empathy. "Don't get defensive, doll, I have the same mindset. I serve this kingdom too."

One startling word froze England's skin. "What did you call me?"

"Whoa, what the hell…?"

Bewildered breath cautiously raised America from his seat.

"Don't avoid the question." A suspicious England stole a glance at the light reflecting in his cerulean eyes, and snapped around with a gasp.

Kindling orange and swirling blue folded in on each other, flickering. Airborne and ghostly, it lay under the wingspan of the forest branches, moving forward in slight jerks.

England clambered to her feet to meet the excitement, her smile growing with her height. "It's a Will-O'-the-Wisp!" She exclaimed, and jutted her finger towards the glowing light.

"A… a what?!" America squeaked.

"Or perhaps the people where you're from call it a Jack-O'-Lantern," England waved; adventurous eyes glittering green with the ethereal fire.

Her sideways grin revealed provoked white teeth and uttered a concentrated, "Let's follow it."

America, on the other hand, was far from grinning. He stared widely at the eerie blue apparition, rigid in his spot. "W-what is it?"

"Weren't you listening? A Will-"

"No, I mean, what's a Will-O'-the-Wisp?" The question echoed tremulously from his frozen throat.

England peered at the apprehensive knight, never allowing the fire to escape her sight. "He's a ghost. Legend has it a smith named Will was banished to the woods for doing some horrible misdeed, got lost, and died there. He wanders around eternally looking for his way out. It's said that if the light appears to you, it can lead you to treasure."

"A-a ghost!? N-no, no way," He whimpered, fingers quivering uncontrollably. Face as transparent as the ghost flame loitering in the darkness, fear possessed America's body, much in the way he imagined a ghost might.

"I'm not g-going anywhere near… that…" His voice faltered, sinking into his stomach. "Ghosts, if they kill a living person, doesn't that person take their place or join them in ghost world!? Or maybe worse, we look like one of the people who banished him and now he wants revenge!?" Watching helplessly as England begin to wander towards the light, his nerves began to frenzy like hiveless bees. Completely controlled by terror, his thoughts spiraled into a spooked, cracking chant. "We're gonna die if we follow it, England, please, no, I don't want to die!"

England stared disbelievingly into America's flooding blue eyes, watching as the knight staying stagnant by the river trembled seriously, the blue-black wind eating at him without repercussion.

Still such a child.

"This is coming from the man who charged into a bunch of bandits without hesitation?" She prompted.

"I can fight bandits! I can see them, I can injure them; I know how to do that," America cried, strained voice draining his tears. He turned his gaze away, distressed. "But ghosts aren't like fairies and gnomes and stuff, they actually for sure exist and they don't discriminate between human and country! They will definitely kill us! I don't want to die!"

"You're being ridiculous, Alfred," the Princess of Spades huffed and turned her back to a shaken America.

"No, seriously, we're going to be hunted for their ghostly revenge, England stop, England wait! Don't follow it! England!" But England was no longer paying her companion any mind, dipping under the low branches of a walnut tree and tumbling through the crackling blanket beneath to follow the ghost light. America was unwilling to stand alone in the stranger wood, so he followed his Princess on the mental pretense that it was his duty as a knight and therefore hero to protect her. It was he in reality that was groping for protection as the dark, searing wind swept through the peeling trees and blew the fire and the Princess further and further into the forest. Large rocks, ratty grasses, and innumerable weeds flit past England. She slid into a tiny valley housing an ivy-swallowed cottage which creaked with holes in roof and wall and seemed to peer at her suspiciously. England reciprocated this wondering stare as the fire flared out.

"Hm, I wonder what this is supposed to be? A clue to finding the treasure?" She questioned curiously, inspecting the building's sides. America emerged from behind the boughs of the trees, quivering frailly.

"Oooooh, we're gonna die, we're gonna die…" He rasped weakly.

"Or perhaps it was a fairy?" America and England remained separate in their words, actions, and thoughts, pretending to be oblivious to one another in ghostly occupation until the knight warbled, "Countries or not, it's gonna take us to the afterlife… Goodbye America, bye bye…" He shook his head fearfully.

England's focus snapped. Her eyes widened and her head swiveled around, ejecting an incredulous question from her mouth, "What did you say?"

"We're gonna die…" America repeated.

England clawed for a real response, reluctant to let that name flee the vicinity. "No, you idiot, America, America!" She insisted. But the breeze assisted the runaway name in escaping the couple's memory as it smacked America's forehead in warning.

"Here it comes, no! Ahhhhhhhh!" the knight screamed, ducking his leaking head.

"That was just the wind you dolt! Can't you see, the ghost light is gone." England griped and pointed to the blackness that enveloped the entire environment.

"…It's lead us to our deaths. We'll never escape the forest now…" America's voice whistled repetitively like the wind, leading England to sigh submissively.

"You're a real scaredy cat aren't you?"

"…I am not!" America bristled, turning to stare England square in the eye. In America's opinion, there was nothing further from a knight than fear.

The blonde's interest was piqued. "Oh, really now? I bet you're too scared to go into that old cottage there aren't you? Because the ghost may be in there?" She taunted, purposefully luring the boy's pride into betting her.

It was a raging success. "N-no way! I'll go in there and I'll make you a dessert!" America protested vibrantly, eager to throw off the edge.

"Oh you liar." England dismissed with a grin, but America refused to let her underestimate him once again. With the swing of his leg, he scrambled over to the dilapidated house, more eager to one-up England than he was scared of any ghost.

"Ah, wait, Alfred, I was just teasing!" England called, aware of the boy's true feelings about the eerie cottage but it was too late. America gladly ran to what he thought minutes earlier would be his demise. Patiently, England waited for the knight's bloodcurdling screams.  
Instead, golden hair and an enthusiastic smile popped through a crushed window summoning the monarch.

"Haha, so was I, but look what I found!"

Like a ship following the glint of the lighthouse, England walked towards her giddily nodding knight. A hand jumped from the window clutching what looked to be a piece of petrified cake. England grimaced.

"Oh, Alfred, that's disgusting, we can't eat that."

His childish query couldn't be helped, "Why not?"

"It's certainly had its years to just sit around and mould and what not, there's no possible way it's any good." The Princess justified, poking at the sour plate slightly and recoiling, gesturing for America to drop the spoiled food.

"Awww, and I thought it was a bet, huh…" America lamented boyishly and poked, "Guess you're the scaredy cat now, huh?"

Her eyebrows bent to match her own angry pout when England argued, "Not scared, just not keen for a stomachache!" In England's opinion, nothing was further from a Queen than fear.

America's blue eyes flickered mischievously with his grin, quipping cutely, "Hmmmm? Likely?"

"This has nothing to do with ghosts!" England steamed.

"You aren't scared of ghosts for some reason, just old food," The smirk stretched even further across America's face and lay there lazily like an old cat. "What, do you think it's going to come alive?" He hummed sarcastically, exiting the bricked ruin.

In complete confidence and sincerity she declared, "It could!"

America stared at his companion. England lay suspended in imaginative dreams, surrounded by the glitter of fairies and the giggles of gnomes in which her company was well kept and her mind was well entertained. It seemed she could no longer discern this fiction from fact, from thinking ghosts could lead her to treasure to believing that cake could come alive. But it turned out that she was right about magic, which led America to doubt whether or not he was able to completely differentiate between fact and fiction. The holes in America's reason allowed England's reality to impress as unique and intriguing instead of ridiculous, and naturally, America was captivated. "England, you're awesome."

She'd never heard such a sweet sound before. Her eyes widened in surprise, but before she could register disbelief, America chuckled nervously, "But seriously, I don't know where that ghost went and it's making me uneasy so let's go."

England cried wickedly, "Ahaha, you chicken. Cluck cluck!"

"You're so mean!" America wailed, waving his arms demonstratively. However, England was too ripe for mocking to scold America's exaggerated reaction.

She pinched the knight's cheek. "Aw, don't be upset. After all, I am here to protect you from the ghost. I can magic after all."

The backlash claimed the knight's expression instantly when he objected, "Hey, I don't need protecting I'm a knight! I'm supposed to protect you! Here, my princess, may I have the pleasure of returning you to the campsite?" The knight extended a hand in a show of gentlemanliness, hoping it would entice her Majesty into following his lead.

"And have you any clue as to where it is?" She inquired, raising an eyebrow to America and his hand. His arm curled back.

"No idea, but I'm gonna rely on my man's intuition or whatever. A soldier's born with a sense of direction." He assured, tapping the tip of his nose.

"No they aren't," England rejected flatly. "Let me lead you out of the forest."

"Aw, come on, let me be useful to you!" The knight's childish pout had its moment of boyish charm.

England blushed. She pretended to stroll ahead so she could look anywhere but America and half-heartedly teased, "I'm afraid you're useless- waaah!"

Turning away allowed a firm arm to slide under England's knees and catch her off guard. An unexpected gust ambushed England and released a shriek of surprise as she felt herself swept off her feet. She lay cradled in America's arms, closer than she could possibly be comfortable with to his triumphant face. Her breath was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Now tell me where to walk your majesty!" He glowed.

England had to fight the urge to harm him.

"Stop carrying me you git! It's been only six days and you've done this far too much!" She growled, hitting his chest as quickly as her heartbeat struck at her own.

"Then I'm a good knight!" He smiled, squeezing England tightly to quell the beating, but instead making her chest contract threefold. Pale fingers burned as if spiked with alcohol, and England's body temperature began to skyrocket. The blush slithered all the way up to her ears.

"Shining armor and all." She scoffed.

"Hey, you, are you being sarcastic? Because I'm not wearing any armor." America grinned, playing along yet blissfully blind to the crimes he was committing on England's poor heart.

"Ahaha, you're catching on now, my boy!" In one shared sardonic look, a crooked smirk drew itself from America's to England's face. Suddenly, they connected, yet America's vision was still blurry where it should have been clear.

"See, you are mean! I can't even tell if you enjoy my company or not!" He cried.

England's smile fizzled. Quickly, her thoughts scrambled to supply a decent rebuttal, but they were all too distracted by the arrow sticking from her chest. "…Well, I mean… I… I-its…" She stammered, "You're… interesting enough, I suppose… but I'm not saying that because I like you or anything, it's because I've just been locked away in a castle for years so…" She trailed off. She looked so feebly up at the knight that he couldn't help but give her a sympathetic, enamored smile.

"I enjoy your company, England." He told her, brushing her hair from her moonlit face. "A lot." A lopsided grin gave blue eyes a darker, more seductive presence, and England quivered under their enthralling gaze. "Let's be friends!" And suddenly, the trance broke.

"F-friends? O-ok…" England, disoriented, groped for a biding response. "I-I'm curious, Alfred, just how many friends do you have?" Ever-present insecurity finally crept into England's voice, easy for even the hopelessly blind to detect.  
"Well, I have Australia and China, and now I've got you!" America weakened England through his sweet smiles and lilting voice, and he knew exactly how to perform his attack. "You've gotta be pretty special to be a good friend of mine."

Those sadistic words that were instructed to comfort instead jumped at England's throat. Where the roses blossomed on England's face a deep red fire encompassed each petal. In the roar of the all-consuming flame, England's words came in whispers of ash. "I-I'm pretty special?"

"Don't you already know you're special, Ms. Future Monarch of Spades?" America teased. Just hearing his cold, fresh voice soothed England's burning cheeks. Relieved, her eyelids slacked, but her mouth was too joyful to stay near as limp. "How is that, because I'm a princess?"

"Because you can do magic!" America burst, as if any other answer to such a question would be extraordinarily ridiculous.

Somehow, England found this silliness absolutely darling and was unable to combat the power of its spell. Taken, she gently stroked America's soft, innocuous, ignorant face and with every touch her fingers sung hymns. "You're a good boy, Alfred." She mused.

Soft, alluring melody continued to pour from the lips of the pale, lithe sirens. America, pulled in by their tantalizing song, leant into England's body. His eyes dipped, and England's fogged in rose. The tips of their noses touched gently, and though England quaked uncontrollably and America's grip got the slightest bit too tight, there was comfort in the closeness. Tremulous slides between the bridges of their noses quenched some thirst that neither knew the existence of prior to contact, but found to feel they could not bear to live without. The touch of another human never seemed so real, so incongruous and yet so commonplace. Perhaps it was like having a bed or a pan; survival without it was possible, but once you had it life without it was unimaginable. England hesitantly slid her arms behind America's neck, touching her heated cheek to America's and shut her eyes, afraid of the knight's response. Her body tense and rigid in America's arms, the knight smiled and sighed sweetly with the Princess's trembling body.

Still so insecure.

"And now I'm your best friend!" He laughed, ambling back into the forest.

* * *

In the midnight the sky began to purple with the promise of the sun soon returning, causing the stars to dim in jealousy. Thankfully, through handfuls of America's cheeks, the pair was able to stumble and shiver their way back to the campground. The wind had eerily expelled most of the moisture from the area, including the waterfall, and as America hopped her across the algae-ridden riverbank, England found herself giving the dry rocks a long, evocative stare.

Swaddled in a blanket next to a crackling fire, America yawned, "Hey England?"

The shadows of the trees and the sleeping animals crept onto the overgrown grasses littering the ground around them. Lingering ash and flyaway spark plagued America even in the sleeping world, but not England, who was already nodding off. "Hm?" She hummed drowsily.

The knight sat up. "You… you know, when we were younger, I, um, overheard you sing a lullaby to your colonies sometimes…" He looked at the ground, as if embarrassed for the next words before they even fell out.

England flipped over, replacing her sleeping features with a critical look. "How in the world did you come about doing that? As far as I know, I wasn't particularly loud…"

As custom, America didn't listen to a word of what she was saying. However, this time he felt he had a very good reason to ignore her Highness. "A-anyway, I… I was just wondering if you, ah, remembered it, by any chance."

She, of course, did not feel the same. "Besides, I didn't sing it regularly to most of my colonies. In fact, I think," Realization electrified England's face, and in that moment America was sure that his cover had been blown. She rose to her knees, pointed at him angrily, and before America could explain himself, she spat, "Hey, you, why weren't you in your quarters by that time? Those inefficient easygoing guards, why I ought to have…" The knight's shoulders fell and he thanked God. England went lax as well, sitting upon her legs and rustling her hair slightly. "Well, I do remember it, but I haven't the foggiest how you're even aware of its existence. It's actually kind of embarrassing to sing it to someone who's not… someone I don't… well, uh, here goes nothing, I suppose…" Her voice tripped over rocky words, once again unable to express her true feelings and hurting America's as a result. She turned to the ground, and America lay back down.

Her throat continued to stumble around as she sang, "My Bonnie lies over the ocean, my Bonnie lies over the sea, my Bonnie lies over the ocean, oh, bring back my Bonnie to me…" The music faded in melancholy, opening the doors to the well-traveled paths of England's past.

"It was… he… He threw a tantrum one day and ran away across the ocean, I-and I couldn't contain myself, and I sent him letters everyday. When he came back, I sang this to him to tell him just how sad I was when he left me, and how I never wanted him to leave me again. My poor little brother, he wasn't allowed to see me off. When I was stuck in my tower, I'd sing myself to sleep with this, thinking of home."

For once, this glum reflecting wasn't registering with America personally. He couldn't recall having done anything of the sort, and was slightly puzzled. "…Who are you talking about?" He asked genuinely.

"Sealand, all alone in the land of Jokers…" England said absentmindedly, and minded too late. "Oh, my, oh no," Her expression took a deep urgency. "If I tell you about this, you must promise never to tell anyone else, understand? No one can know, not the public, not the lower cards, no one. Do you understand the seriousness of this secret, Alfred?" She stressed every word in vehemence.

America met her in complete honesty, knowing that if he heard the story he may be able to recall. "If you trust me with it."

"I," Green eyes flickered to the flames, searching for a better beginning. "Sealand is my younger brother, and my only completely biological brother. He was incredibly impish, sticking his nose in every place it didn't belong, but he was just a child. There were clear rules against entering the Queen's Library, but he did anyhow, and he took the one book in its breadth that had the power invested in it to destroy the entire Kingdom, and perhaps, slowly, the world."

America sat up, eager to spectate what would ensue on the stage England had set. "Which book?" He questioned, glad this performance was audience interactive. The princess turned to face him, remembering to present for the viewer.

"The Basic Laws of Alchemy. Fooling around with it, he summoned all types of creatures, which mother or I could have easily dispelled and stopped the catastrophe in its tracks. But we couldn't have fathomed that he'd intruded into mother's library until an ogre broke through the roof and by then it was far too late. He left the Book too close to the hearth and it set fire." Gravely, England's voice dropped an octave. "But a book of Magic does not burn like a normal book. No, for the magic within its pages to be nullified, it must consume just as much energy as it commands to have every spell written inside it performed. The book turns into a black hole of sorts, and the fire spreads to gain some of energy the book needs to pass on into the Next Dimension. And Alchemy needs more energy than any magical practice. Do you see where I am going with this?"

And suddenly, it clicked. America remembered everything.

"The castle set on fire."

England nodded. "The black hole and the fire were intent on consuming the entirety of our castle, and then our Kingdom, or possibly more. It was lucky that we arrived before the rest of the Magic books caught fire. All of that Magic burning at once…" The thought of the consequences raised the goose bumps on her arms.

"It would have destroyed the world!" America jumped.

"There'd have been no escape." The words curled into each other darkly, and clashed in both people's ears.

"What did… what happened to him?" America posed quietly.

The answer tasted supremely bitter. "…He was ostracized, persecuted. The entire Deck of Spades went into an uproar and cried for bloodshed or banishment."

America leaned closer in pretend astonishment. "What? But he's just a kid!" He sputtered.

A heavy heart hit her ribcage hard. "There was no reasoning to do. We had an entire Kingdom poised for mutiny; they'd have killed the child themselves if we didn't do something. The monsters he summoned went on a rampage throughout the kingdom. It took us a week to dispel all of them, and in that time they crushed villages and killed nearly a hundred people. The Kingdom went into turmoil; cursed my mother's name, threw rocks and protested, attempted to kill my knights and enter the castle. It became that the only way to set the Kingdom in order again was to banish Sealand."

"…You sent him to the land of Jokers." America could sense the hurt, nearly taste the bile that rose with every syllable in England's story, and tried to tie a suitable knot with his sensitivity and characteristic curiosity.

"I had to. My mother couldn't do it."

"So, what happens to you in the land of Jokers?" If these questions were becoming oppressive, America couldn't tell. England didn't seem to register any emotion that contradicted sorrow.

"The Card becomes the replacement for the oldest Joker, who gets sent to the afterlife. He became a Joker."

"…You must miss him."

"Yes, but he by no means liked nor loved me. He probably hates me now." England's voice cracked, and in that instance, glancing at his Princess' face, there was no feature that was absent of pain. It bent her brow and toyed with her mouth and America was struck with a pity that he felt rare again.

"I doubt that," the knight tried to comfort, but to no avail. In a quick breath and an even speedier decision, a melody rang out in a shameless show of sympathy.

"My Bonnie lies over the Ocean, my Bonnie lies over the Sea, my Bonnie lies over the ocean, oh bring back my Bonnie to me."

"Alfred?" America smiled sheepishly. An overwhelming glow washed over the Princess whose appreciative beaming could do nothing more than evoke more bars of a sad song from a bad singer.

"Bring back, bring back," And a profoundly beautiful voice joined to chorus, "Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me. Bring back, bring back, bring back my Bonnie to me."

"You know, it took me nearly dying for you to finally be nice to me. Do you know how fucked up that is?" America giggled, preceding a deep, watery yawn.

"Go to sleep, you idiot." England grinned, pushing the boy on his back. A contented sigh rose from the grass, and was proceeded by a tiny snore in record time. Smile lingering, England extinguished the fire, wound the blanket tightly about her legs, and softly soloed the rest.

"Oh blow the winds o'er the ocean, and blow the winds o'er the sea, oh blow the winds o'er the ocean and bring back my Alfred to me." And in a show of unspoken boldness between the stars, the shadows, and the princess, she blew the knight a weary kiss.

"Goodnight, my knight."

Alas, rest could not come to her. It seemed seconds before she shot up again and crawled closer to America's sleeping form. Soft breaths looked teal in the pale moonlight as England came to find staring down at America's messy honey-blond head. It couldn't be desirable, waking with your hair blinding you. England would do him a slight favor. Timid fingers crawled closer, reluctant but compelled to nibble at the sweet honey. Tentatively, they sipped. With just one taste, grabbed by his bangs and shoved into addiction, England couldn't stop touching, staring.

Sickened from the sugar, pale fingers could no longer graze at America's hair. England drew away, her heart beating rapidly.

"You look so sweet when you sleep. You stupid, pretty boy." England thought aloud, frowning all the while.

"I don't like you." She reiterated with haste and trembling mouth, snapping her hand away from the unconscious America's head.

She made a show of retreating from him, proving to everyone who knew of this encounter that she had no feeling whatsoever concerning it or concerning the knight himself. That is to say, when she cocooned herself in woolen blanket and hid her face at least a meter from the knight's body that no one was found relieved of their worry that she might be getting a bit carried away by him. No one but her Majesty.

* * *

Laughs, sweetness, endless questions, and even longer conversations filled the next week and five days. For a week and five days, England's carefully constructed castle periled. Shooting arrow after arrow into England's heart, forward America marched, unknowingly spearheading a clan of attackers through the princess' castle. Invaders beat on the walls and windows, and terrified, the Princess tried to hide. She pressed her face to her hands, unwilling to even look upon the face of the loveliest of kidnappers who would sweep her from her castle to the world of the most striking emotion that existed; the most fearsome, yet most intriguing and spectacular thing to feel: Love. Stone by stone her walls were loosened, and soon crashing bricks would send crashing men to rip apart doors and within that week and five days they would be leaving with the prize in their hands.

* * *

The sun beaded in the tips of the leaves, morning dew kissing each of them adoringly but fleeing as soon as her lips left their edges. The troupe marched along, albeit in conditions fairer than most mornings, having finally descended the drop-off and reaching the nearer edges of the forest. Unfortunately, they couldn't advance completely north; sharp, angry rocks growled profanity at the knights and their horses. So forth they trudged, through England's disorienting tales about gnomes to her crying that she did indeed see one, and America ruffling her hair in a display of wayward affection. England grunted.

Clouds billowed to make a bed for the sun that happily crashed into their embrace where it lounged for the remainder of the morning. America stretched and reached for the canteen strung about England's new animal skin quiver. She huffed in objection, but the boy tipped the canteen back into his mouth, salvaging whatever water droplets made the journey. He brought his eye level with its entrance, and didn't catch a splash of water. He looked back at the Princess who seemed to have a mighty poker face already plastered on. He turned to Australia for mercy, but discovered an alliance was forged in secret when he caught the other with his canteen upside down.

"Really?" America commented in disbelief. The others shrugged nonchalantly, fighting off smirks. The youngest snatched the container from Australia's hand. "Damn you and your big eyebrows." He grumped, and stalked off in search of some water. Fortunately for oblivious him, the others knew that water was not far away, and England was eager to use the time to her advantage. She hustled to Australia's side, keeping the conversation in hushed confidence.

"Australia, you have to help, I think I might be falling in love with Alfred!" Perhaps she hadn't said this urgently or seriously enough, as Australia erupted into a peal of ridiculing laughter.

"Your majesty, I think you're mistaken. What you're feeling is not love at all, but what we like to call a crush." Australia chuckled, pointing upwards informatively.

"A crush?" England bent at her neck, puzzled. "What is that? It sounds painful."

"It's when you think someone is pretty cute and you want to be with them, but you don't really know anything about them." Australia detailed, but from the minute the true definition hit England's eardrums, she was defiant to its resonant beat.

"I know plenty about Alfred!" She combated.

Australia scoffed skeptically. "Oh yeah? Then when's his birthday?"

Here, England was at a loss. "Uh, ah… um… Well, it's not in Winter, right?" Australia folded his arms and shook his head in knowing scorn. Nerves frazzled on England's end, and she quickly attempted to fizzle Australia's doubt. "Alfred! Alfred, come here?" She pleaded, jogging to meet the inquisitive boy.

"Hm? What the hell?" He grumbled, still a little irritated from the previous altercation, but soft to England's sparkling eyes.

"When's your birthday?" She whispered, but sensitive to the boy's exceptional volume, she readied herself to bring her fist swift upon him if he tipped Australia off.

"July Fourth?" She struck him on the arm and shot her gaze back to the older knight, who seemed to suspect nothing. America whimpered in confounded ire.

"Ah…" She nodded, ignoring America's annoyance, further aggravating the younger knight as she skipped back to Australia's side. "July Fourth!" She huffed, posing as if she'd accomplished the challenge, but Australia didn't drop his arms or his smirk.

"I'm not going to accept that." He stated plainly, and England's hands fell with her mouth into a questioning frown.

"What? Why? Alfred, you arse, did you lie to me!?" England blamed, whipping around to glance at the accused but innocent. America made a big display of his confusion and annoyance, getting so emotionally excited as to begin to tear up.

"What, no! Why would I lie about that? And why did you punch me?" He harped, waving his hands around wildly.

"Well, I couldn't have Australia finding out I was asking you the answer…" Blushes of anger and embarrassment grazed both cheeks of both America and England, who stayed utterly focused on each other despite Australia's dialogue.

"She's a cheater, and tried to slip past me. Unfortunately for you two, I'm not an idiot."

"So you punched me?!" America badgered, leading England by hand into disheartened humiliation.

"I-it was all I could think of at the time!" She cried, beginning to reach extraordinary emotional levels herself. Taking notice, America ushered his irritation away and calmed.

"Dammit England," He sighed. He received a warbling hiccup in response.

"Thanks, mate, now scram," Australia waved the younger away, his intention to help England still riper than his desire to listen to the couple's incessant bantering.

America sneered. "Whatever, you guys are being stupid anyway." He swiveled around and tumbled back towards the river, wishing to see off his exasperation.

Australia turned back to meet England's gaze. "Here, I'll give you an easier one. What's Alfred's greatest dream?"

England illuminated. "Ahaha, I actually know this one! To build the world's first flying machine!" She responded perkily.

Australia chuckled, "What? I thought it was to save you and become a hero?" He grinned toothily.

"Well, yes, but… maybe that's so he can have enough money to build his flying machine." England's voice cascaded into her throat, dimming with the absence of light.

Australia raised an eyebrow and strolled in front of England dismissively. "Face it, I think you're plum out of luck. It's a crush." He shrugged, but England refused to conform to Australia's observation.

She shot to her defense. "No, I can prove that it's more than that! Alfred!" She called for the knight again who, already returning to the horses' side, begrudgingly redirected his attention.

"Please don't hit me again." He pleaded, only hinting sarcasm. A gentle smile was offered to soothe his worry.

"I promise I won't," She assured, and the boy slid by her side once again.

Though his eyes were locked with England's, it was Australia that pressed the question first, asking, "Tell us which is more important to you, saving England and becoming a hero or building the world's first flying machine?"

Strained blood locked England's back into place, and she boiled, "Hey you, you're twisting the question around!"

"Not really, though." The knight shrugged, playing the same ornery game that America delighted in with England.

"Yes really!" She contended, but America grabbed the opportunity to banter from under her feet.

"Well, my life's dream is to build the world's first flying machine," he explained, gestures abound. "I want the adventure, to say I really touched the clouds. The sky is one of those places that can change, but always stay the same, you know? But being a hero comes first. Where there's someone in danger, I've gotta help! It's called doing the right thing! But this quest is different. I did this all for England."

As soon as it slipped out, America knew he'd blundered. He clapped his hand across his mouth, sealing the broken dam before it could further flood the area. But it was too late. Judging Australia's look of bemusement and England's crimson face, there was nothing he could do to save himself.

"E-eh?!" England choked in a flimsy, wobbling ardor.

"Huh. What do you know, your love wasn't unrequited." An enlightened spark jumped between Australia's eyes and grin, but didn't translate nearly as well to England. The voltage sent her flying, shocked and sparking from head to toe in astonishment. It hurt, the way the current stole her words, charged her heart, and ate her breath, and it hurt even more to hear America desperate to share the shock with her, to want to, and to keep running despite it all.

"I-I mean, I think of you as a friend! As a friend, England! Totally platonic! Come back, I was just mouthing off!" Logic fell to the wayside per usual for America, and he darted after the Princess, needing her only to calm.

Trees and their seed flit past the two as they ran through the forest's drowsy early morning blitheness. Birds chirped through their bounds, and through England's watery scream of, "When aren't you!?"

And suddenly, the princess stopped mid sprint and let the knight crash into her, clasping her arms weakly around the boy's waist in what she convinced herself was a show of appreciation. Tension bit at their bodies, locked in a surprise and a courage that neither could comprehend having done. Together, their hearts beat double time and their nerves stood up and began to dance a painful and wonderful tango.

"England, I-" America started to stammer, but England was quick to interrupt.

"Do you like me as a friend or not?" Buried deeply in America's fleece shirt, she shook, each word carefully chosen by the heart who bellowed so deeply in her chest. She refused to look up into the face she blushed so hard for, his chest the only solace she could take from the downpour of acid emotion that ran through the both of their blood.

The lack of oxygen could only be attributed to the air as America breathless too. England's presence at his chest robbed his lungs of any possible air. It was she who was to blame for his heart rising in his drying throat, suffocating him through whichever means he wasn't already being asphyxiated, and he could barely bear the urge to respond to her touch. He was crushing under an indescribable weight, and it showed plainly on his face, flushed and bordered with beads of nervous sweat. "You're… precious to me," was all he could squeeze out, until the sparkling set in and the current began to flow when England's fingers finally touched his cheek and ignited his outlets.

"That's all I need." She whispered heatedly, and in a rush of power and wonderful nerves she took his collar and pulled him to her burning lips.

Acid and electricity. That's how it could be described. It burned and shocked and soothed and stimulated in one fell swoop. Despite the aggressive approach, the contact was exceedingly gentle, still timid and tentative in its willingness to touch. Bolts, watts of electricity jumped between parted pink lips, striking skin iron hot to the touch and red to the eye. In rose colors and stunning stars, sensitive mouths collided in deep emotion, searing the heart and mind in fog but emitting a pleasure so divine it addicted deeply in its first experience. America pulled England closer, embracing her back, thirsting for more. In a swirling haze of excitement, England slipped her hands behind America's neck, holding him close as if he would drop her and run right through the fog encompassing their persons even though he wouldn't dream of leaving. Heavenly friction continued until neither could endure the absence of air any longer, and they broke the kiss in heavy panting breaths and a deep stare.

Blue eyes reflected green in a sugary moment that begged to be ruined with banter, and in that department this couple was born to provide.

"H-haha, look at your face, it's so red!" America teased, running a hand up England's soft cherry cheek.

"N-not like yours isn't! Look at these cheeks!" England joked back, pinching America's cheeks with an ecstatic giggle.

In those smiles laced elation and pleasure that only certain moments can bring, certain feelings can allow and certain people can reciprocate. It was the idealistic time and place for both, letting a shared grin and blush accrue much more significance, even in a simpler context.

They fell into laughter, just holding each other, rocking back and forth in the sentence that explained it all.

"W-wow, I'm really really happy."

The invasion succeeded.

* * *

**End Chapter 11.**

* * *

_A/N:_

_Baby, you light me up like a Tesla Coil. ;)_

_You're like the proton to my neutron: givin' me a positive charge. ;)_

_I must be Benjamin Franklin, cuz you struck me like I was a lightning rod. ;)  
Ehhh, that one could use some work. Make one about Alkalis and Halogens and I'll love you forever._

_I'm sorry, this chapter is too late to have excuses. I went to my first tournament actually debating this past weekend and won third speaker! Then I went down to the studio and filmed my first newscast, tutored, decorated my house for Christmas, dragged myself to Black Friday and of course, stuffed my face. But enough about me. _

_This chapter was a labour of love. I wanted to communicate a few things besides the obvious milestone in the love events; one of them being that England cared for a brother (brother figures, whatever) other than America. I also wanted to relay both points of view of a searing conflict that's only just begun. I really enjoy this chapter because its main point is America and England just being together and getting to know each other better. (Oh, and just in case you didn't catch it, the last sentence was in reference to the metaphor I used to describe the entire time skip.)_

_The time skip will work, trust me. It's not me just copping out of writing England and America into love, because I think you at least kind of understand whatever this foolishness is going on between them here. _

_Unfortunately, this chapter didn't get to visit Paris. But in due time. _

_As my English teacher says, the proverbial poo hits the fan next chapter, and I'm totally ready to go there. So stay tuned! Love them reviews! ~Sam_


	12. 12 Stranger

**Knight**

**12**

Waves of flowers crashed and sprayed their pollen foam against clay mountains in the vast green valleys of Thailand, the small territory north of the Diamonds Kingdom. Comfortable cottages iced with allegiance to the Hearts Kingdom lay slackly bricked and at peace as soldiers dressed for war fluttered their banners in their march.

"Attention!" Their clattering armor halted its song. All eyes were turned to a stately man dressed with the practicality of a soldier, though noting at the pomp and prestige that a monarch was expected to carry on him at all times. A tight mouth, an icy gaze, and a booming stern voice was what characterized Germany so as a commander, his understanding of war and lack of understanding anything else far superseding any other man in the Hearts Kingdom. Rightly so; he was the King.

"Germany! Germany! Look what I found!" A harmonious voice chirped. Cheerful gait brought Jack Italy, waving his hands to and fro, to the base of the hill, meeting the exasperated King with what he considered a very charming smile and a bundle of strange flowers.

Germany rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Italy, those have been everywhere. They're very common plants in the Diamonds Kingdom."

The Jack's smile went soft. "Oh… I guess I was just-"

"Paying too much attention to the women here instead of your surroundings. It's a habit of yours." Germany scolded, and the Jack hung his head. Such a shamed expression didn't deserve to hang on such an innocent face, Germany thought, and sighed.

"Maybe… Maybe I was being a little harsh." Italy instantly perked up and pressed the flowers to his chest.

"So, you'll take them then?"

The King blushed, unsure of how he should act in front of his soldiers. He knew not to appear weak, but how strong is a man who puts down his friends? There is strength in character, too.

"Ah, s-sure." He concluded, taking them gently from the Jack's grip.

"They're to say thank you Germany, for always protecting me from harm! I don't know how you are such a good King! I really couldn't be!" Italy laughed, and Germany smiled affectionately at his Jack.

Upon hearing the strict march of another fleet of soldiers, the commander straightened up and broke the moment, watching as his Queen galloped forth from the hill dotted horizon. His dark eyes glinted in the morning sun, smiling slightly upon seeing that his friends arrived to the Spades border safely.

Germany nodded to him in greeting.

"Ah, so we're all here together now. I trust we are to head into the Spades Domain?"

"Hi, Japan!" Italy welcomed energetically. The dark-haired Queen offered a shy wave.

Germany ignored this interchange. "Yes, but the troops stay behind for now. We have no idea what the Spades militia numbers look like and I have a hard time trusting the word of the Clubs King. Even if we are all invading together, hegemony means a lot, even in a three versus one battle. If the Princess is to return to the Capital and marry Egypt, we may not stand a chance. We must not mistake this vulnerability for more than it is. And…" He frowned pensively. The Queen took notice, and knew to pry if he were to learn the true objective of their expedition into Spades.

"What is troubling you, Germany-san?"

"I'm not sure if I even want to wage war on the Spades Kingdom. The Jokers have reason to bring chaos to Hearts; my elder brother is one of them. They may have ulterior motives on telling us of Spades' decision." The King bit his tongue anxiously, the bile cold and bitter with the thought of making a grave mistake. Japan understood the King's woes completely though he did not show it outwardly. He too was afraid of the wild card.

"We shall be cautious, Germany-san." He offered in consolation, and the two shared a small smile.

"We better get going if we're going to eat pasta for dinner tonight!" Italy intercepted, earning a chuckle from the Queen and a growl from the King.

"Where do you think you're going to make pasta in the forest!?"

"Under a fire silly!" Italy jived, sliding on top of Germany's horse with ease. The commander plunked down behind him, moving auburn hair from tickling his face.

"All you need is water, I brought a pot and everything!" he chimed, shaking his bag in gesture and receiving a strike to the head from the King.

"Bring something useful for a change!" Germany scolded, his soldiers looking at each other in amused bewilderment as their monarchs rode into the distance.

* * *

England's fingers did a nervous dance with worn reins. Under her, America strolled with a piece of dried meat in his mouth, seemingly unaffected by the earlier day's events. This made her all the more unnerved.

Her uneasy mind mirrored the moments after the kiss in a dreary haze.

"W-wow, I'm really really happy." England felt the stifling giggles bubble in her mouth but America covered his, butterflies dying in his sinking stomach. Puzzlement cycled in England's deep green eyes, before his alarm forced her to register her own. "Oh... oh no," she whispered and fell from America's arms somberly.

"D-don't feel bad, I-I egged you on, okay, so , I'll… I'll take responsibility," the knight stuttered, his arms shaking from the mass of ash erupting from his stomach. Choking on smoke, his words burned.

But this burning was nothing compared to the flames that he knew would engulf him if anyone at the Capitol found out about the kiss.

"We'd get in serious trouble if anyone found out about that." He whispered and watched the joy in England's eyes corrode and wither away.

"Did… did you feel anything?" He supplanted, but she'd already begun to bitter. Stronger than tears meant to sour until you saturate; until the human body could not possibly hold a single more. Although she tried to keep a brave face, like Atlas, her voice shrugged.

"I-I… I shouldn't have…"

"Yeah, but, " America interrupted, but England cut his sentence short to continue her own.

"It felt… indescribable."

She prayed the sting in her lungs to escape through the vapor in her mouth.

America looked sad and lost and confused. He stared into the parallel, seeing a universe in which he could love whoever he wanted, with no restrictions or repercussions. "…I couldn't help but think…"

"What?" she asked, but surprised she'd been listening, he turned away.

"N-nothing. I… didn't."

"Oh." Somehow the fact he still kept secrets from her pained her more than the heartbreak, like how a lemon shoved into a wound stings far more than the initial prick of blood.

Hearing the sharpness of that one word, he knew and tried to soften her. "I like you so much and you're a great friend, England-"

But in one minute, she was miserable, and stony dialogue followed melancholy faithfully. "It's OK, Alfred. We're never to tell anyone. And we'll never kiss again."

Returning to reality she thought perhaps she struck too quickly. What backlash could fostering a relationship with Alfred have if no one found out about it? She couldn't be unfaithful to someone she hadn't pledged fidelity to yet, right? What was wrong with having a short-term relationship; people did this sort of thing all the time while abroad on white sand beaches with beautiful free-spirited women they could never claim. How did this situation differ? It would be fine as long as their connection remained loose. It wasn't as if she would jeopardize the well being of the whole Spades Kingdom just to be with a temperamental, childish, but pretty and all too charming human. But figuring how to tell Alfred she wanted to be his temporary consort was maddening.

Maybe she should wait until nightfall and curl up by his side. Would that be enough to encourage him to pursue her? If she bribed the imps or gnomes they could steal some of their things so she could rescue it and impress Alfred. Or should she call upon those fairies so fond of mischief-making to charm Alfred with their magic?

Diverting her gaze from Alfred, she twiddled her fingers again.

"A-Alfred, about earlier," she began, trying to initiate conversation.

America frowned. "Like you said, we-"

"No no, I don't think there's, um, a problem with doing that," she interrupted.

"What?" His question came in a forceful, angry sort of scoff. England paid it little heed, sure that if she continued to explain herself he would find himself more eager to comply.

"I've been locked in a tower for years, right. I've no experience in these worldly matters," she started, each sentence pirouetting in manipulative ground.

"Kissing?" America supplied, eyebrows twitching with skepticism.

England clapped her hands. "E-exactly! What good is a wife who can't even perform a simple kiss correctly?" The rhetoric somehow tied the spinning, nonsensical knot perfectly, and America found himself submissive to England's whims.

For once, he had no answer to give. He turned back to the road with a sideways glance.

England slipped from her saddle.

"Alfred, I consider you a friend. A good friend wouldn't allow me to make a fool of myself at the behold of the future King of Spades."America frown still firm, England eased up to him and held America's hand. "I promise, I won't make you do anything you don't want to." She whispered, and America wavered.

He sighed. "I'm scared, England." He confessed.

"No one will know," she confided, and touched America's temples gently. With the same gentleness, he drew England's hands from his face.

"Not of that. I'm scared I'll fall in love with you. Or worse, you'll fall in love with me." Blue eyes focused on the ground underneath, feeling England's heart skip a beat in his sweating palms.

"Why is that worse?!" she shouted defensively, yanking her hands from America's in hypersensitive shame.

"Shhh," he pressed, and planted his hands in her hair. "Because, the fact you can't be with me would hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, England."

The princess gave a lopsided, suggestive smile. "I promise not to pine too hard for you."

America grinned half-heartedly. "You're being sarcastic, but you should really pay attention to your feelings. If it gets too real, we need to stop." He tapped his forehead to England's, their eyes glinting together, secretly excited and amorous.

"We're friends, Alfred. We're fine." Glancing around his shoulder to make sure Australia was fully preoccupied, England pecked America's cheek, setting the boy's face aflame. But the smile couldn't bear to leave his face for almost an hour thereafter.

* * *

The sweeping scent of dank forest pinched at poor Italy's nose. He wrinkled it in disgust, the fresh, tangy scent of the Mediterranean too familiar for his senses to cope as well as Germany's and Japan's. The commander rolled between the bushes with a certain swagger, and his Queen followed gracefully and quietly with his horse by his side. Italy, however, wasn't nearly as tactful sneaking through the woods. In his carelessness, twigs snapped, branches smacked, and the Jack whimpered and shouted and cried whenever he was hurt or scared, which turned out to be quite often. Germany could only take so much of his uselessness, but wasn't eager to cause a stir. Not any more than Italy was doing anyhow. He knew even less about the lore of the forest and its creatures than he did about its twisting rocky floor.

"Perhaps we should have brought Canada of the Diamonds Kingdom. He's quite familiar with this environment…" Japan thought aloud, steeping his fingers.

"No, we can't have the other Kingdoms assuming our mission is to ally with the Spades." Germany scowled quietly, hearing Italy tumble into another bed of rocks and cry out when they scratched at his face.

"Ah." Japan enlightened. "This is why you are the commander, Germany-san."

Suddenly, the forest hummed. Alarmed, the royal couple crouched behind the trees. Italy, calling for Germany, ambled clumsily towards his King only to be silenced by the blonde clasping his hand over the Jack's mouth and pulling him to his chest. The Hearts peered around brown trunks clammy to the touch. Sweat poured from their anxious bark as it was only natural to be afraid; they sat at the edge of a steep drop-off; saw nothing but proceeding slopes from their position. The snap of a branch would send it to its doom, and the Hearts monarchs couldn't help but be hyperaware that such an event would send them to their doom as well as the sounds turned to voices and the voices drew nearer.

"Australia, you see it, don't you?" A voice that lacked the roughness of a man's but overqualified in pitch to be a woman's pleaded from the rocky road.

"I haven't seen an imp since I was a child," A sir, definitely, Japan and Germany agreed. He stood rugged and strong in their minds, smarts and ambition hardly traits he lacked.

"What, Australia, you saw these things too? I guess I'm the only sane one around here," This one was young, loud; a bit heavy on the ears. Pictures of vibrant, energetic days reverberated nostalgically in the Hearts' imaginations.

Germany glanced at the young man in his arms. Well, some of their imaginations. However as he entertained the thought, he recalled being unable to recollect his own childhood. Perhaps only one of the Hearts royals looked upon old memories at the instigation of such innocence. But upon peering at his Queen's glazed eyes and firm unchanging expression, he was proved incorrect.

"Oi! Who're you calling insane?" Facetious anger chorused. The others were met with a peal of mocking laughter, and the group reveled in its whimsy, bickering and bantering while they entered the royal family's view.

"If anyone's batty, it's you! Afraid of ghosts, how cute!" Evidently such snark came from a woman, evidenced by the way she sat on horseback. Japan was astounded that such vigor and attitude could come from a lady, especially a royal. Perhaps the boys had thrown her formalities and inhibitions to the wayside once they put her on the back of the horse, accustoming her to bantering and besmirching.

"A bit of a dag, aren't we, Alfred?" The elder of the knights laughed.

"I'm sorry, but who saved you from a giant dragon just last week? Uh, oh, right, this guy!" His bragging was addressed solely to her.

She scoffed. "The boy's so conceited, but without me he would have died a few nights ago when attacked by bandits!" The group seemed healthily lively though for their youth, and Japan couldn't help but smile somehow, despite knowing that he stared at the faces of potential enemies.

Almost in sync, a bemused smile lit America's face. "Cute? That's me? I don't have freckles, huh?"

"Germany-san, is that," Japan whispered, interrupted by a swift, urgent nod. Golden hair and blue eyes, eyebrows and stray hairs were not to be forgotten. Sliding into Germany and Japan's view was the future Queen of Spades, armed and marked by her companions, whose mission ceremony they attended just weeks earlier. They hadn't left Thailand since fleeing the Spades Kingdom. The lean of the bayonet knife was still very much material on Germany's back.

"So that's..."

"England." Germany completed, and pressed his hand a bit firmer around Italy's mouth. "We will confront them once we reach safer ground."

"How fortunate that the monarch fell right into our laps," Japan commented, bowing in gratitude for their good luck. To whom Germany was not sure. "But let us not rush into battle." He added, and the commander nodded. Furious shaking began inside his grasp.

"Be on your guard, at least." He advised, but in following Japan from the observatory point, he must have lost his hold on Italy. The redhead nation wriggled to his freedom and began to run in cowardice.

"Do we have to Germany?" he wailed, captured again after a tremendous show of track effort on the commander's behalf. "I mean, it's nice just looking, right, and then we can tell Brother France later; we don't really have to talk to them, right? What if they don't like us and take us back to Egypt?! He'll kill me for sure, Germany, don't do it!" He flailed in a futile attempt to break away from Germany.

"No, Italy; weren't you listening to the plan at all?" Germany growled into the Jack's hair, receiving a whimper in response.

In a slide of rocks and tap on the head, the Queen joined the conversation with the same surmount of elegance he always carried. "Italy-kun, don't fear. We just want to convince England to be on our side. If we carry ourselves correctly, the rightful monarch will disallow Egypt to destroy the Hearts Kingdom." He concluded with an almost musical tone.

"My gravest concern at the moment is the fact that we have no idea where we are." And there went Japan, somehow using the hopeful atmosphere to soften the others' despair at being lost.

"Wh-where are we?!" Italy cried as if he had been hit with a blunt object. He was then hit with a blunt object.

"None of us know," Germany answered, retracting his fist and his arms from Italy. "But I'm sure if we just follow England and America-"

Japan frowned. "Ah, we have no way of knowing their whereabouts now." Suddenly, Hearts became quite aware of its unfamiliar and confining surroundings, the shadows cast by the trees all the more menacing in their stray confusion.

The Queen, though he brandished a map, could not rely on its vague descriptions and terrible cartography of the Northern Forest. Sweating with worry he tried not to alarm the others when murmuring, "Perhaps we should just walk in… this direction."

He did not succeed. The royal procession of Hearts walked in 'this direction', staring at maps, wringing their hands, and hiccupping with fear.

"How could I have planned so terribly?" Said the hand-wringer King, to be waved off by the map-staring Queen and of course, only served to worry the hiccupping Jack of Hearts. In 'this direction' they continued, the sun hosting a fellow who watched them and snickered, his tail dangling wistfully from the edge of the cutting ray.

* * *

Indigo cycled into the sky after delivering a routine, yet overwhelming shove to the sun. Once in power, it provoked and tempted, beautiful and menacing, drawing light out to play from the window frames. The trees were the first to enter its embrace, then the houses; finally the water and the people striding on the soil, the creaking gears and the squawking fowl resounding in the hollow dark. Grassy knolls hosted mealy lines sprinkled with seeds beginning their spring into life in a crooked-fenced, homely town of farmers. It bore no sign, preferring obscurity to fame in its humility, but this meekness only served to frustrate the navigator, who snapped his map irritably once dusty steps stopped.

America raised his arms faster than the rising moon dared, his shoulders cracking with weariness. "Ahh, I'm bushed," He sighed, drawing the attention of emerald eyes, but failing to influence stern mouth—at least on the outside.

"Not that I care about your health, Alfred, but perhaps we should find residence?" England supplanted, pretending to be preoccupied with the cuff of her sleeve.

Australia's mouth twitched in annoyance. "Ugh, you do that, sheila, Alfred and I will find out where the hell we are."

With a nod of farewell, the Princess slid from the saddle of America's horse, and twirled the reins in her hand. The leather straps were lost though in the sweeping instant that was America's goodbye kiss.

England found quickly that she hated surprise kisses, as the rouge spread to her neck. Quivering sputters followed parting lips and heating palms, but all of these desiring were left unsatisfied as America twirled on his heel and left with a proud smile and wink.

Public kisses were quite unbecoming of a knight she scolded internally, her perspiring goose bumps having little to nothing to do with such nagging.

Feeling in the scolding spirit, she decided to have at Australia's casual vernacular. "What sort of slang are the youth spouting nowadays, really? Abusing my language, I ought to give them a what for." She grumbled aloud to nothing in particular, the blush still having trouble fading from her cheeks and the feeling of America's lips having equal trouble leaving her own.

She found that she had been wandering around aimlessly since aforethought kiss, and ended up on the property and in the vision of a small old woman watering her plants in the evening. Both the woman and England were quite surprised at the sight of each other, albeit for different reasons.

"Excuse me, but you don't look like you're from these parts." The old lady smiled.

"Oh heavens no, I haven't the slightest clue as to where I am," she responded, trying to suppress her relief at the woman's friendliness. "Oh, pardon my manners, my name is Alice," England introduced, and promptly curtsied as ladies are expected to do. She knew better than to reveal her identity, and thus the location of the coveted head of the Princess of Spades.

"Dolores Lowell, at your service!" The greying woman curtsied so deeply, that England felt again like royalty. Then, Mrs. Dolores Lowell began to speak. "That accent! I haven't heard such proper English since the day of our Lady. Since no one reports to the Crown cards anymore given the circumstances, you must be from some remote northwestern place, huh? Oh that's not the point, now is it? Do you drink coffee? You should come up to our house. Ah, you have a house now, don't you, Ms. Alice?"

The chattiness caught the crown daughter off guard. "Um, yes, I know what a home is. Thank you for inviting me into yours." She felt almost as if she were interrupting.

She finished stowing her garden tools and pulled off her gloves. "Oh it's no trouble, not a problem at all. Oh, for travelers to show up way out here, tourists!" Her grin felt faintly familiar, and as she opened the gate, England couldn't help but feel stranded a foreign place for the first time since leaving her castle.

"My friends and I are no tourists." She chuckled, thinking of just how far the three were from the word and its lack of responsibility and surplus of indulgence.

Up the creaking wooden steps the women went, meeting eccentric swatches of colors and items in the yellow-brown hold of the porch. With years of use and accumulation, the porch drooped exhaustedly under the ladies' feet. England didn't feel surprised; what could she expect from a woman who watered her garden in the evening? Mrs. Lowell was kind and that was as much as she could ask for.

"It's so very strange since everywhere else is so developed. Have you been to the Chinese cities yet? Quite lovely places, I remember my daughter wrote me a postcard from Qinwei Point… at least I think that was where it was." Dolores Lowell lost her train of thought as often as children lose their toys. But eventually her focus returned to England illuminating in the light of her home. "Oh dear, I didn't even notice until you stepped into the candlelight but you are covered in leaves and dirt! Where have you been in the past few days?" She cried, rushing to dust off England's dress.

England did not find this rude in the slightest, but rather odd. For a woman who collected so many trinkets, she was surprisingly neat and tidy. "Ah, dear woman, you have no idea." She laughed, knowing that if she were in Lowell's position, her reaction would be the same, but with much less compassion.

"Well, let's get you cleaned up! Ah, please remove your shoes. Oh my, is that a bloodstain?" The three blurred together as if the same sentence, dictating England's next movements.

"Unfortunately." England responded, removing her shoes and setting foot into Mrs. Lowell's dainty wooden house, only to be held a lighting candle and another direction.

"Do you mind striking that candle there for me before you settle down? Thank you, dear." England leaned back and swiped her hand across the porch light. "Did you know some of the colonies are working on thingamabobs that make light all by themselves?" Mrs. Lowell commented, ambling into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee.

"Colonies?" England questioned, the term the most foreign to her of all.

"That's what we call ourselves, the towns and districts that used to report directly to the Anglo-Saxon crown. We speak English, but we have no English sovereign. We can't be England's people then can we?" Her thumping explanations and kitchenware finesse resounded from the room over. "Bless her heart, dear princess wherever she is. We all hope for her safety, and we're rooting for those boys going to save her!"

England tried to maneuver her skirt around tracking dirt on the floor. The task embarrassed her deeply, but it had to be done if she were to sit on any of the cotton and feather filled chairs in the woman's living room. "Those boys? You know about them?" she asked, somewhat surprised that the news reached somewhere so rural so quickly.

"I'm surprised you know about them!" Mrs. Lowell responded, quite convinced that England was coming from somewhere by a far nor'wester.

England scrambled for an excuse. "I don't! I just… heard some chatter around town earlier and I am interested in learning what's going on."

The woman clapped her hands together in what England surmised to be an excited gesture. "Ah, well! Let's start from the ceremony! Egypt, our Ace and current ruler called upon two of his knights to bring the Princess of Spades back to the capital to claim her throne." Coffee scent waltzed around the sitting room in the pause. Mrs. Lowell followed it, apron sidling up to her dress, and took up a paisley-printed chair. "They're the best of the best; my son is a huge fan of Australia. He just can't wait till the man becomes a Card so he can enter his domain. And America! He's a looker. My daughter's taken a liking to that one. Can't wait until he becomes Ace or begins his own boy band, whichever comes first and with posters, ha!"

The kettle began screaming in sync with England's inner alarm. Both grew louder as she followed the oblivious old woman into her equally picture-filled kitchen. The colors of the caricatures and portraits and novelties just served to make England dizzy in her breathless confusion.

"Wait, America!? What does he have to do with…?" She clawed for clarification, and the open book never failed at sharing her knowledge.

"America and Australia are the knights going to save the Princess. America and Australia were the ones given the quest on ceremony day according to Wednesday's paper. This report says they were last seen in the town of Newport about two weeks ago. What luck it would be if they came here! We have one traveler though and that's enough excitement for me, ho!"

It proved too much for England though.

The memories rushed her all at once, every one of Mrs. Lowell's pictures inverting into her own, with both little America and Alfred. They seemed too different, too strange for combination, unable to be correlated or confused. Then the words, the quick cover-ups, the superhuman abilities, the attitudes, and finally the visages all melded into one, utterly recognizable figure.

Suddenly colors became too vibrant, and the kettle overbearing. England lost all feeling in her hands, arms, legs, numb with the thought that she had lusted after the little brother she had prepared so diligently to save.

His innocence washed away at her behest.

Her knees buckled under her.

The princess, pale and her watery eyes focused on the dust surrounding her hands, was a cause for deep concern to the poor elderly woman, who rushed to her side, completely and utterly confused at her reaction. Was America a word that brought back some repressed childhood memory? She despaired in causing the poor girl such pain, and wished she hadn't have said anything. "Oh my! Are you alright, darling? We should get you into those new clothes now, huh? Want me to draw you a bath?"

"Y-yes, that would… thank you…" It seemed numb mouths had issues formulating words, much to England's indifference.

The question cycled through her head in a stuttering mantra. 'Why would he lie to me?' Her darling little brother, her blockheaded friend, enemy, or lover she trusted, she considered hers alone, but played her for a fool for whatever reason. She was haunted by the image of honey hair and blue eyes and friendly smiles, but refused to attribute them to evil or trickery.

Why would he lie? This confused and hurt England more than anything else.

* * *

"England?" America stared down the dirt road, watched it climb a hill until it pawed at the fringe of the forest. The princess didn't look to be on its back, and was nowhere to be seen in the rest of the stacks of wood and soil standing in the fields. He frowned and turned back to the general store door. Australia stood in the dancing candlelight scratching at his neck with the map. "Damn, where'd she go?" Australia shrugged.

"Ah, not to worry, right? We can just stop off at the pub for a while. She'll know where we're at." Australia proposed, pointing in the direction of a little building lively in comparison to the rest of the teensy town.

"What gives ya that idea?" America asked skeptically to be met with a bewildered look.

"We've still got a horse don't we? Where am I gonna tie it up, on the bar?"

Taking the teasing yet valid point, but still concerned for England's safety, America reluctantly agreed. "Ah, fine, but if she doesn't turn up after an hour, I'm gonna go looking for her."

"Fair enough." Australia shrugged, and both turned and headed in the bar's direction.

"Even these small towns have booze, huh." America mused to the night sky, but instead of the wizened stars, Australia's laugh answered.

"If there are two constants in the world, Alfred, it's time and booze."

"Whatever, man. All that deep shit rolls right over my head." Australia scoffed at the falsity of that response, but before he could respond he was confronted with more of America's interruptions. "Hey, I was just thinking, why don't we carry guns?"

The door opened to fill America's inattentive need. Noticing nothing, the boy walked right in without hesitation, confirming Australia's suspicion that whether the door was open or not, he'd just keep on walking. "We're knights, it's an honor thing." He offered, and the bell rang behind them.

* * *

"Ah, go ahead dearie, climb in. I have to prepare the salts and soaps and things, you know."

England shuddered and shielded her chest in premature embarrassment. "B-but!"

Her protests were met with insistence on behalf of her health. Figuring the princess collapsed from tension or some stomachache she had contracted for being on the road for too long, she thought a warm bath would help her forget her troubles and relax her. She was somewhat right, but England was being as averse to water as a cat. Whether this had to do with her fresh trauma or a natural fear of water remained to be seen, but Dolores was intent on getting the girl in the bathtub.

"Oh don't be so shy, we're both women aren't we? There's nothing to be bashful about, not a bit. Go on, so I can gather your clothes in the wash, eh? I think I have a lovely dress of my daughter's that will do, but no corsets stayed." Mrs. Lowell's eternal petty conversation was able to swim forth, and seemed to help England calm considerably. "Unfortunately, you'll have to go without, but that'll do for you! I can tell you're truly a slender lass underneath all that petticoat fabric, hiding your breasts and such." She looked up into England's blushing face, realizing what had come out of her mouth. "Oh, I apologize for bringing up such a tender subject, but-"

All at once in a flurry of fabric, the dress, the corset, and the petticoats were tossed to the floor.

Mrs. Lowell stared at England's chest.

England's blush dipped into her neck, and she furrowed her brow in discomfort. Instinctively, she tried to protect the skin being borne into and burned. "Wh-what!?" She stammered, her embarrassment becoming more rock-like in her stomach and throat. "It's even worse than you expected isn't it! I'm terrible, I know it! I tried to be a proper lady, I did, but I couldn't convince God or magic to aid my femininity! Forgive me, mother!" She cried, clearly more insecure and closer to emotional malfunction than Mrs. Lowell previously thought.

She waved her hands defensively. "No, no, darling! Oh it's a relief you didn't remove your undergarments yet, because that would have been frightfully embarrassing for me." She attempted to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing by filling the discomfiture with piles upon piles of words. But words that disguised themselves as hay stuck like needles in England's skin. "Hah, you sir are actually a very convincing lady, but I must ask why you dressed up as one. Are you in a travelling circus? Or are you an actor?"

England's face fell.

"H-huh?"

"No wonder you objected to me being in here. I'll just go retrieve some of my son's clothing and you can dress yourself later. Ho, what a relief it will be to not have to worry about not having a brasserie or corset for you to wear!" Mrs. Lowell tried to laugh, lighten, but England couldn't be softened to the elephantine lie that fell upon her shoulders.

"Are you saying… I don't need those things?" England, fishing for clarification, took the gravest tone she could muster, aware of what she was accusing and its depth. She was indicting everyone she'd ever known on a lie that was far bigger than America covering his identity. This lie lay formally on her late mother's grave.

Mrs. Lowell looked up and into England's eyes, stricken. "…Do you not know you're a boy?" She half-whispered, and England knew her—his—fears to be true and the hurt far deeper than he imagined.

"I'm a what?" He choked on the multiple rocks: shame, pain; betrayal. His heart writhed as it rotted from the poisonous realization. Hearing the lies stung. Knowing that trust was misplaced and betrayed pained and ached.

"A… boy… sweetheart, oh I'm so very sorry, but how could you not know?" The face England made alarmed Mrs. Lowell, who could not believe the pain her mouth had caused the poor boy standing across from her. He looked lost, like a child, in no more than his underwear; confused and needing his mother. A mother herself, the boy who was stranger to his own skin easily harvested her pity.

"Oh don't cry, darling. I'll bring you some tea and those clothes, when you finish alright? You might want a minute alone." Hastily, she retreated to the door, fighting the tear pricking at her eye from witnessing the betrayed, foregone face of a child.

"Y-y, th-ank you so for your kindness…" The new he warbled, staring at his feet, so far away and so unaware of the sickening feeling washing through the rest of his body. How he wished he could be them, numb to the burdens of the mind and emotions.

So many lies, so many lies.

Suddenly, England realized he had the power to find the truths himself. What he took immediately as truth could be falsehood. He was discovering a fallacy enveloping his entire life. He must know if he were locked at a dead end before the old woman locked the door. "W-wait, ma'am, please I just… can you … remove your undergarments?"

She swiveled around, stunned. "What are you asking of me?"

He explained, voice laced with substantial weight. "I believed my whole life that I was a woman, and I know no other representation of the female body. I know this request is ridiculous and I can't be forgiven or obliged for giving it and you may very well kick me out of your house and speak vulgar of me for years to come, but I require proof. This… is dire."

Slowly, she nodded. "…I understand." The first sentence uttered simply from the woman who loved excess even in meager household. She removed her undergarments and there England witnessed his first vagina.

He was horrified.

"…I am so sorry." His voice broke. He meant to add 'for doubting you, for making you do this, for the burden I have caused' but he couldn't get his mouth to oblige. "I'm in your eternal debt." He managed, and turned his face away in shame and disgust with himself.

He looked nothing like a woman. How could he not have known?

Mrs. Lowell turned back slightly before leaving him be, murmuring a deep, tight, and eternally melancholy song of sympathy. "I pity you, poor boy. What is there left of your identity once you lose your name?"

The door locked on his collapsing world, and England sat and watched, with the weight of losing his name and the choice to cry or fight.

But he hadn't lost his name. He'd lost his pride, his gender, and when everything about his body suddenly made sense he lost all understanding of his personality. But England he remained.

Heir to the Throne of Spades he remained.

And as a man, he would not cry at the bitter sting of betrayal or gender confusion. He would punch it, shove it aside, and bid it good day as any gentleman, like his brothers or father, would do.

Heir to the Throne of Spades he remained, and knew his place at once as Prince, as Sovereign, as Monarch; as King.

* * *

**End Chapter 12.**

* * *

_Farewell, female pronouns. Told you shit got real. _

_It's about to get a hell of a lot worse too, for England and America and for the Hearts monarchs, who got lost in the woods. And the Jokers have yet to put their master plan into motion, so WE HAVEN'T EVEN BEGUN. _

_WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, READERBASE. _

_In other notes, this chapter would have been up two weeks ago, but my laptop __was eleven years old. The graphics card was dying a slow, painful death, the battery was useless and it had precious little time left so I quite literally pulled the plug. I was unhappy, to say the least, but I will be receiving a free one for Christmas, so the updates thereafter should be much more rapido. _

_This one is up thanks to the desktop computer at my house, but it took until today to pry my brother away from Minecraft and finally get to work. Completing the final part of this chapter took ALL DAY.;; I have a Christmas special in the works too, but just in case that doesn't get up on Fanfiction until after the 25__th__, I wish you all happy holidays. Don't eat too much before your flights; jet lag is very displeasing! Be careful on the icy roads! _

_Sorry for the lengthy author's note. Thank you for all of your support (reviews, follows, and favorites)! ~Sam_


	13. 13 Plans

**Knight**

**13**

This isn't to say that England did not cry. The water did little to warm his skin, salt blinding, stinging, and reddening his eyes.

How could he not have known?

Bubbles rubbed against him in a futile attempt to comfort, but the Prince coveted nothing but conflict. He didn't see why he should return to America's side. In two weeks and three days he had learned much about the knight's character. The boy was selfish, arrogant, and still very much a child, holding onto dreams that he could build machines that flew and make houses cold when it was too warm outside and someday be able to talk to people halfway across the world. He never had a father to teach him responsibility, or a mother to teach him sociability, so the idiot ambled about saying what he pleased whenever he pleased to whoever he pleased and didn't give it the least thought. He was deluded with his own sympathy, thinking he could save the world from strife and death and its causes, like hunger for example.

England doused himself with water. Speaking of hunger, the knight seemed to mow through all of their provisions, giving little consideration for his companions. How one could concoct these fantasies about helping peasantry and protecting the poor and not even show courtesy to the people around him England could not fathom. Sure, he may have given England his blanket a few times, or said a few sweet things, or tried to make him feel better as he bathed in his own blood, or held him and cuddled him or really talked to him and listened unlike anyone had ever done before, but there was no excuse for his awful personality.

He scrubbed at his skin, trying to rid himself of the blush, slow down or explain the beating of his heart, ignoring the kisses, the laughter, the whispers; the secrets. Wash away his lust, his incest; his sin. The 'You're cute's meant nothing to him, the 'Awww, England!'s, 'I like you!', 'Your voice is beautiful.'s. His heart skipped a beat. He could condition that out.

For a man, he had acted so foolish. Allowing himself to be carried around bridal style, romanced with tales and subsequently romanced by a bratty man who he dubbed 'Prince Charming' without real grounds for claim. Could he even condition out the womanliness of his manner?

Perhaps England could never truly learn to be manly like his brothers Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. Their muscles were trained for soldiering and combat, not daintiness and magic. His mother was the Queen of Spades. She whipped him into elegance, and hardly bore a strict glance or threw a cordial correction at any of her stepchildren. England sighed. It was too late to be taught how to act one's gender, but maybe not too late to learn.

* * *

Shadows skimmed the golden vines snaking from the pearl ceiling. Adamant and ornate were the windows and walls, the banners and tapestries about them green and glittery with pattern. The servants slid and danced on the icy floor, but were grateful for the warmer air if only to feel it once. Figures frozen in time held the halls, intricate, lovely, and ominous faces engraved in stone. In the distance, a piano sang its melancholies, its nostalgias, its greetings; its joys. Cooks and chefs fried and baked and folded under the watchful eye of the morning sun and the twirling pan of Queen Hungary. Where there was liveliness, there was peace nearby, but even in such ease there was still a prick of fear and a deep echo of menace in each and every heart. This was the evermore state of the Castle of Clubs.

Sealand rocked back on the colorful windowsill, knowing he left no shadow to be seen, and watched the working palace. How they could busy themselves with such splendidly trivial tasks before entering another war was anybody's guess.

He knew that Diamonds and Hearts did not trust Spades or their current head of state and his throwing around of treatises as if his Kingdom had suddenly forgotten its immense pride and ambition. He knew one of these kingdoms was eager to launch investigations into the kingdom's actions, and the other sat on pins and needles, afraid of what cunning repercussion they would receive for their past crimes against the Kingdom of war.

But he knew that the Clubs Kingdom did not take their treaty seriously at all. He knew King Russia was waiting, almost ravenously, for Spades to show their weak spot and that when he had the upper hand he would strike without a second thought. King Russia cared little for truce or treaty. He wanted the Deck. He believed, or rather knew, that the perfect world united under one ruler, and cared for all of the weak and poor out of the goodness of their hearts and the depth of their wallets. And if it took a little blood and few bodies to reach that utopia, King Russia had no reservations about being the one to deliver the sacrifice.

He was a utilitarian, of course.

Sealand grinned and grimaced. The Joker was only a child, but even he was less starry-eyed than the King of Clubs. He believed, or rather knew, there is no such thing as utopia. Such fantasies are for children, idiots, and naïve and dark Kings; all ripe for manipulation. The Joker stood.

Sealand glided invisibly through the texture and design, and passed chattering servants nonchalantly. Rounding a corner, he saw the throne room doors thrown wide and agape, the King sitting peacefully with a glass of vodka in his hand.

Drinking so early in the morning Sealand could turn his nose up at, but he found he could not bear to look away from who was under Russia's other hand. Being coddled in a rather disheartening manner, the Eight of Clubs sat tearfully by his master's side. The Eight held the staff of Clubs, but he was rendered so subordinate that he wouldn't dare try to use it. Though clearly sickened and miserable, the boy said nothing, and let the King pet him as he pleased. Sealand entered the room without removing his ticking enchantment, and approached the throne. He knelt down in front of the blonde and cocked his head, wondrous. He was young, about Sealand's age if not a bit older, and pretty like a girl. Cried like one too.

'Geez, so old and still such a crybaby?' Sealand thought, but then turned his gaze to Russia. 'I suppose it makes sense though, being around this scary guy. Not that I'd cry or anything though.' His eyelids dropped as the corners of his mouth turned up, wondering what this boy did for fun, who he knew or played with. Someone so small, small like him, a card! If this crybaby could do it, certainly...

"Why don't you just show yourself, Joker, before you really make me angry?"

The King's tone was innocuous at face value but its sinister undertone sprouted too quickly to remain unnoticed. Suddenly Sealand's thoughts silenced.

"It's not polite to stare. You should apologize to Latvia."

This captured the Eight's attention instantly. He picked up his head and found himself staring and trembling into Sealand's solidifying face. The doors then shut with an intimidating thump that resounded throughout the castle.

"Thank you, Lithuania, Estonia. A conversation between friends deserves no interruption, right banished Prince?" The King smiled and sipped from his chalice. Manipulating this man would be much harder than Sealand previously thought, if not impossible. Fright began to crawl up his arms and legs.

"You know that I came to talk to you about the war, don't you?" Sealand stood from his spot in front of Latvia, who timidly backed into the foot of the throne.

"Then have a seat," Russia gestured to the table across from him, playing cards strewn down its face. "I wish to hear about the condition of Spades."

"Of course," The Joker summoned a chair, a bit unnerved, but somehow found the courage to ask, "How did you know I was here?"

"I know all winds, I've felt all colds, and I'm familiar with the magical types," Russia responded, swirling the vodka in his glass. "Even you from the other worlds can't escape my notice."

Sealand looked down, afraid to even think that the explanation was bunk. "Right then." Breathing deeply, he collected his thoughts and observations, determined not to let Russia intimidate him into working for Clubs. He came to fulfill his own purposes; they left no time for games.

"It seems that America and Australia have left the nest seeking England." Sealand slid the cards together and stacked the deck.

"I am aware." Russia cut.

He shuffled the cards. "This is your chance to investigate the Kingdom. I know a way in which we can overtake the Jack of Spades' power. With only one of the two Royal Family cards in play even the suit that has Hegemony can't win the war. Of course, you understand the price." Sealand laid the deck down with a snap, and gestured to the King of Clubs. Raising an eyebrow, Russia drew the top card from the deck cautiously.

"You get the head of the Queen of Spades," he answered, twirling the old maid to face the Joker.

Sealand smiled and pricked it from the King's gloved hand. "Alright then. I'll give you a hint about the game play of this era. Following?" He bridged the cards again.

"Game play? Is that how a Kingdom can get the most power out of their cards?" Russia responded, either hypnotized by or completely controlling the cards' rapid intertwining and stacking.

"Let's just say card games aren't based on nothing. The Universe sees, hears, listens..." The miasma dripping from Sealand's teeth tainted mischief and turned it into menace. In a flash and a glare, the Joker held all of the cards in more ways than one.

"Trump is in play as you can tell, and so Joker is, naturally, the wild card and/or the highest trump card." Sealand shrugged in mock humility and smirked. The top card flipped between his fingers, iridescent glitter shaving off the original face and replacing it with the child's own impish visage. Promptly, the card offered itself to the King.

Russia nodded and pinched it. "I see. You are offering yourself to us as a trump card?"

"Yes, and more. If I take upon the Club," A stream of glitter touched the back of the card and materialized, crawling and consuming the front face of the card. Suddenly, the reds and blacks and blues of the Joker card's attire all mixed into a vibrant green and the glitter monster, finishing its task, dripped to the floor. "Then you can become the trump suit." A monstrous whisper, a monstrous task, a monstrous intent. The Club etched itself on the card and winked at Russia.

"Trump referring to hegemony." Power smelled so good. The King's face twisted a maniac, hungry smile.

"Fantastic! Then we can take Spades once and for all!" Eager words couldn't wait to breathe in oxygen and satisfied the King's constricting chest. Sealand shared in his satisfaction, but not his appetite nor his ignorance. His smile dried.

"Ah, but there's a few problems that I was hoping we could solve together." He crooned, looking off to the side, knowing that the King wouldn't take to that news. His fingers ran down the side of the deck.

"Problems?" He asked cheerfully.

Sealand ripped two cards from the gut of the deck, either hand holding a limp corner. He turned one over and slid it towards the King. "The Jack of Spades has to be here to complete the Trump transfer, and..." The other card he shielded from the King's eyes before confessing, "I kind of actually can't perform the transfer."

Russia's expression turned dark and his smile melted and remolded, now plastic. "Then why did you waste my time by coming here?"

"Let's play nice!" He sang with warning, twirling the second card in the palm of his hand. "It's not my Trump to take. I wasn't even alive when Spades was given Trump." A dart of air, a smack of cardstock, and on the table lay the second Joker, right by the first, back turned to the onlooker. "But Prussia was, and a Joker way before."

The King's expression softened. "So you just need to bring him here."

Sealand frowned, three cards from the top of the deck taking occupancy in his hand. "That's the problem. How are we going to convince him to help you?" He fanned out the face cards of the hearts suit. "Prussia may not pledge allegiance to Hearts anymore, but he certainly loves his brother and Italy and cannot stand your Queen and Jack. In other words..."

Russia's excitement met the crushing power of politics. "If Hearts and Clubs have a conflict of interest there is no hope for the transfer."

"Unfortunately."

Russia glanced at the cards on the table. The Jokers, one with his back turned to the Clubs King and the other clothed in the colors of his dominion. The Hearts Kingdom, who may truly be the secret threat. The Jack of Spades, the key to power, the man he desired most.

He rose from his throne and Sealand's gaze followed. "Then what are you waiting for?" The King smiled, his violet eyes sparkling at the Joker for the first time. "Go get your friend and I will make mine."

Then Russia descended the steps of the dais. Staff in hand, Latvia glanced quickly and anxiously between his friends and the King. Decisive, he tailed the train of his King's green robe.

"What do you mean make yours?" The Joker asked, standing and following the Eight.

The King glanced back at Sealand and held his hand out for his staff. "I'm going to kidnap the Jack of course." He replied musically, and gripped the golden rod lightly. "Lithuania, prepare our guest a room." He waved a hand towards the Ten and glanced back at the Joker with a stinging smile before opening the door.

"A-ah, yes your Majesty." He bowed and Russia exited, the floor thawing as he distanced.

* * *

Rapping on the window, the breeze entreated the cottage's patron to let it in, but the old woman was too busy staring blankly at a stack of paperwork. These documents, flat yet looming, white yet black, harmless yet destructive- the most sinister wolf in the coat of a lamb. Dolores Lowell suddenly looked into the pane of the window, the darkness of the night and the hum of the spring peepers breaking her complacency. An old woman's face with too many wrinkles lay transparent in its glass. Everything she'd ever owned lined her halls for the fear that she would one day need it; she was sure there was a Card out there like her. Always squandering and rich only in poverty, every bill and every tax collection like a smack in the face.

The tax returns mocked her misfortune, knowing very well she could hardly pay them, knowing very well that the troubles of the Deck of Spades cost, and those costs were dumped on people such as herself whose income depended solely on the success of the harvest. Yet the Harvest Goddess gave her sons no blessing. Her lineage left for the Capitol in search of seeds and salvation, the petition of farmers pleading and demanding rights for decades. To tax them as if they were merchants was cruel; taking money from the poor to build large magnificent palaces for the monarchy who paid them little mind. The colonies buzzed with this kind of talk for ages, but when the world came to war and the men came to fear the coming draft with its gunpowder stench and dark evident ultimatum the hive silenced and allegiance to Egypt was more or less restored.

This train of thought skidded to a halt when tan striped obstacles appeared on the tracks. The freshly striped legs propelled forward with a taught taut grace and the woman looked up into the face of flight itself. A boy with no name, no knowledge of his basic existence, but only a destination standing as proudly and tall as this one, a face full of life and vigor, could only be born of the sun and the sky. Bright and shining, Lowell could tell she looked into the face of a leader.

"Madam," he said, smiling gently down at her, "Thank you, if I haven't already said it. You've been more than accommodating." The woman hastily stood from her chair in the living room, unable to keep her jitters and smiles under control. "Well, aren't you a handsome young man? My son could not have worn it better."

England glanced around playfully. "Where is your son anyhow? It isn't as if a little woman like you could run this farm all by yourself." He charmed, and the woman chuckled, gesturing for him to follow her for a cup of tea.

"His sons help me with the farm when he's away. You can probably tell, what with how nicely you were dressed before, how old these clothes are." Mrs. Lowell answered

"They did smell a bit musty, but no cause for complaint!" A healthy sprinkle of sugar and a curvy stream of honey intertwined and sunk together into the steaming cup. Warm porcelain touched skin and lips and delivered a comforting warmth to a hurt and frozen England. "I daresay, that all my life I've been living a careful lie!" He chuckled, as if he joked then the truths and the fallacies couldn't stab at him anymore.

"It sounds heartbreaking." He hadn't learned how to opaque his emotions yet. Seeing everything that was so terribly hidden brought a pitying smile to her face.

Steam encapsulated England's lips, slid up against his chin and slunk around his jawline. He pointed to the bathroom, and the vapor enveloped his voice. "It was certainly no picnic in there, I can tell you. I don't know what to do with myself now. How can I go back to the liars who left me to believe I was a woman? I certainly can't face one of those people, lest I-" he took a sip of his tea as a cover for his inability to respond. What would Scotland say if someone crossed him? The 'manliest' response England could conjure in the time-frame tumbled clumsily from his mouth, failing to live up to expectation as was custom of his words. "-beat his face in. All I know is that I must return home at once, but I've no idea how."

Sensing this insecurity, the woman could stand for it no longer. As far as she saw Alice or whatever his real name may be, was a perfectly darling young lad and had no grounds to be so diffident. "Sir, if I may say," she puffed out her chest, her words chock full of esprit. "You came to my home with two bags of supplies and a bow strung about your arm. I'm confident that even if it takes you a year to get home that you can definitely do it! As for those who lied to you, all you can do is forgive and go your own way. No more of their rules for you, no sir! You follow your heart, and go to it the way you see fit! March to the beat of your own drum, right?"

And for once, listening to her rambling was worthwhile.

England's tea jumped from the cup, catching his excitement. "Mrs. Lowell, you're absolutely right! I'm going to take your advice right now and talk to those boys!" His body straightened, but his joints remained animated and jerked him from the kitchen.

"Eh, they're in the town?" She called bewilderingly.

"You bet they are, and probably looking for me. I'll give him an eh wot, lying arse." He bounced onto the porch.

"Ah, mister, I don't think," She began, picking up her petticoats and hopping after him as the door gusted behind her.

"And then I'll say that I don't care what you do anymore because I'm going my own way and goodbye and good riddance to America!" He grumbled and growled and beamed, shuffling feet hastening through the dirt and cobblestone path joining the white picket gate to the road.

The gate creaked its command, and the woman halted her pursuit. "Wait, what!? That's not what I meant and... huh?!" Confusion corroded her cries.

England turned back to face her in a rush of loose white fabric, a lovely smile accompanying his wave. "When I return to the Capital, I promise to make good on my debt to you Mrs. Lowell. Thank you so much for all you've done! I'm going now." He bid her farewell, bowing and preparing the horse for mounting.

"Going where, child?!"

Propped up on the saddle of America's horse, he turned South, the midnight the only thing blocking his view of his future. "My own way!" he proclaimed and snapped the horse's reins.

"At least stay for the night!" But the Prince was too far gone to hear her pleas. Sighs flit in the wind and the old woman shrunk and resigned to her home.

* * *

'This direction' was proving very unfruitful. The King was becoming irritable, the Queen was becoming hopeless, and the Jack had remained careless. The wood surrounded them on all sides, bearing a uniquely suffocating presence. Burning a fire to boil water in Italy's pot for his beloved pasta, the Hearts monarchs felt completely and utterly alone in the world. Japan wouldn't mind if the woods were of his own domain. Germany was ambivalent to the lonesomeness, or rather, he couldn't feel lonesome with his two friends with him, and his annoyance took precedence over any other feeling he had at the moment. The only one who felt lonely was Italy. Pasta finally tickling his lips was a calming touch he craved.

His face looked absolutely pitiful as he stirred the pasta, murmuring as to not further upset his commanding officer. The man leaned on a tree trunk, aggravated hands sending tremors through the map. Civilization was all that could calm those nerves, Prussia chuckled, observing his brother's behavior. His tail flicked and wiggled about the edge of the imaginary circle of the sun, and the Joker stood to stretch his body. He wanted to tease his brother, ease his brother's tension; absorb his brother's anger. Quite unlike Sealand, he loved his brother, the King.

In fact, his story was quite opposite from the younger Joker's. He wasn't banished as a punishment. He was banished as a service.

Prussia could hardly move, breathless on the brink of death as the last of his citizens fled to Germany and Poland. To save Prussia's existence, Germany the King summoned the only magician, a wandering Nordic, in the Hearts Kingdom to perform the deed. The memory always forced a wry smile to his face. Countries rarely disappeared. For some like Germany, it took a long time to mature and find themselves. Some like Poland were beaten and turned weak by stronger nations, but like a phoenix, rose again and remained. Rarely did they truly fade and meet a human death. Someday Prussia would shake hands with that rarest of deaths, but everyday he lived or whatever it was he was doing his gratitude to his brother stood a little taller.

"West!" Prussia called, slinking to the ground in a show of acrobatics. The sun suddenly eclipsed for the Hearts monarchs, whose heads all lifted to the source of the shade.

Upon the sight of white locks and twirling tail, Germany stood and slunk towards the descending Joker. "Preußen. Why're you here, mein bruder?" The elder brother promptly embraced his younger whose chest, barreling as it was, was unable to take the squeeze and caused his face to redden.

"I want to help you escape this forest!" The Joker chimed, still airborne.

Germany raised sweat-frosted eyebrow. "Really? Do you not want any other favor?"

Prussia pulled back from his flustered brother, a pout etched into his face. "Why can't I just visit you without ulterior motives?"

A question that needn't an answer because to ask it would be ridiculous. Yet it was asked and a frustrated Germany felt obligated to answer. "You wouldn't!"

"Well," Prussia's tail twirled around in his fingers as he rocked his eyes back with lilting connotation. "I would like you to stop Sealand."

"The other Joker?" Italy supplanted, as if the rest of the party didn't know, but instead of dismissing annoyance Prussia nodded in warm assurance. Turning back to Germany turned his smile impish.

"You do love the awesome me, right West?" He teased, his back loose and twisting like ribbon in the air. "It's a dumb question, of course you do." Ruby eyes sparkled to taunt.

"Make your point." Germany asserted crossly, immune to his brother's teasing and mockery.

Prussia halted mid-twist, gravity gripping his hair. His smile couldn't be leveled, but his humor seemed to. "Sealand told me when we traveled to the world of the living that he wants Clubs to wage war on Spades, who I happen to be patron trump of. That really means nothing, besides the fact that if Sealand gets his hands on the Queen of Spades and turns him into a Joker like he plans to, then the awesome me will definitely die." Germany's face fell.

"The Queen of Spades meaning England?" Italy asked, and Prussia answered with an endearing yes.

Japan gazed at the scene before him. His King in shock, his Jack blissful in his own obliviousness, and the Joker smiley without purpose as he gazed upon a cheerful Italy. Clearly no one caught Prussia's great Freudian slip, and Japan knew that it was his turn to speak.

"A man? England?" He questioned, and the three turned their attention to the Queen whose still distance beyond the pot could only have been described as hyperbolic. The same could not be said about the silence that followed his unexpected interjection.

"What?" Italy sang, his Queen's gaze not striking the slightest spark of unease within him. "Japan, why are you saying that?!"

"He said Sealand plans to turn him into a Joker." Japan pointed, shifting his gaze to Prussia. But as the Joker regained his senses, so he found that what Japan was suggesting was thoroughly uninteresting and irrelevant. He lay floating on his stomach.

"You're missing the actual problem. If we don't stop that guy, I'm going to die." Prussia redirected his gaze mid-sentence, looking at his brother again. Head in hands, he glanced up at the afternoon sun pensively. "Sealand pretends to be so smart and so cynical, but if he's really thought this through, why doesn't he realize that if he banishes England too he could spend eternity with him?"

"It matters not bruder, we'll stop him." Germany faced his fellow Hearts, the air of surprise sharp in their lungs.

"I suppose the old plan goes to the wayside then?" Japan posed softly.

"The war was only going to bring us trouble. Now it can save my brother's life." The King smiled, and curled a determined fist. "I knew my brother had cause to bring us into this."

The sun's visage was too common to block out the subtle beaming coming from his brother, and in it Prussia's eyes glinted and glimmered more than he could have mustered without. "Weeest!" he cried, silly with sentiment and embraced his stuffy brother with a bit more vigor than before.

* * *

Liquor burned in the pit of their stomachs and on the tips of their noses. The bar hummed with country swing and swerve, small and rural and introverted in that it sought out no conflict nor friend, perfectly content with itself without contacts. Its little boards and bitty bar reminded Australia of earlier days, but left America high and dry. The bigger the better, that was his motto, but in such a poor little village he knew couldn't ask for much bigger. Contentment settled on the shoulders of the knights who somehow avoided recognition by careful speech and alias, and the suppression of the ever-incriminating cowlicks. They took the complacency and calm for granted while it ticked away with each of Carrie's gallops. Fate craved conflict more than anybody; eager to watch America and England to face each other once again in anger and frustration.

Where did kisses have a place in the life of a man on a mission?

England dismounted. He tied Carrie's reins to a post near Bartholomew.

Where did liars have a place in the life of a monarch succeeding the throne during imminent war?

Pale palm touched wood and the flimsy doors slammed open with the slightest of force.

Where did crushes have a place in the life of a man of purpose?

Green met blue in a jolting, jilting moment of surprise. But whereas one smiled the other remained cold and hardened, knowing that moving mouths were mad and craved argument.

Where did love have a place in the life of an arranged but flawed betrothed?

It was only a matter of time before his lips went crazy and emptied his grievances before he went on his merry way. Perhaps he mayn't even be able to control the stick and shift of his joints, who with a mind of their own could be cause for cries from the golden-haired knight. Slowly he advanced on America, whose smile cascaded to the floor.

None of these things had a place in his life, England surmised, and with their expulsion came America's. In finding his identity, there was one thing that was for sure: America was to be no part of it.

* * *

**End Chapter 13.**

* * *

_First chapter of 2013! Now I really miss France. I have talked about every other Kingdom but Diamonds, and I want to see Paris._

_Maybe you noticed that this chapter was not chronological in time, but the way I wanted you to know the events worked out best this way. But Russia and Sealand talked the morning after the Hearts left Thailand. The date Hearts left is the evening that America and England are in, and Hearts is talking to Prussia the same afternoon. So Hearts then Spades then Clubs._

_Went to the TV studio again, filmed my newscast. Feel like I should have worn more makeup. :|_

_Well, it's very nice to see you all again. Thank you for your continued support despite my clear update deficiency. Stay tuned!_


	14. 14 Burn

**Knight**

**14**

A sideways glance. "England, what happened? You look pretty mad, and you're… wearing pants?" An animated look of concern, a gently teasing smile. "Where'd those come from, our bags? Didja piss someone off and they threw you out of their house or something?" Charcoal coated words unknowingly threw themselves into the flames smoldering in England's eyes, tinting and shading the world red and black. His voice rumbled and crackled. "Might as well have you dirty fucking liar."

And a flyaway spark struck America's flesh. "Whoa, what?" Shocked, his eyes widened and recognized the fire resolved to burn the bar to ashes.

America watched speechlessly as it spread to England's stomach. "Oh, I don't know, you explain it to me _America,_ why are you a two-faced twit?"

"W…O-oh," He jolted back. He could hear his heart drop and beat an icy, sickening ache into his chest. "Oh fuck." It was over.

"You're goddamn right 'oh fuck', you want to explain to me why you tried to fool me?" Snapping flare beckoned and encouraged more oxygen, more coal, more fuel rather than exhaustive explanations. It was hardly asking to be extinguished; it ate England's legs and wrapped his fingertips.

Panic sought comfort in blame. "Australia!" America cried.

"I didn't tell her a damn thing!" The elder knight defended himself, backing away like the rest of the whispering, shaking populace from the torrid bar side.

Illusory fuel indeed fed the fire, and England's eyebrows raised in his enraged excitement. "Oh yes, that too! Did you think it was funny to keep that a secret from me, America? You thought it was hi-fucking-larious to keep me from knowing what must have been obvious to you, eh? And when I came in here you must have known that I knew and you kept it up you fucking lying wanker!" Engulfed completely in flames now from tip to toe, the heat began to emanate, the atmosphere to ash. America receded from its sweltering threatening glow, watching England tower over him as his anger grew and grew.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" America questioned, his glass shuddering in his fingers. Red.

England shot his glare at the cup. "As if you're old enough to drink! Give me that!" He jerked it from America's grip and burned his fingers. The vulgar poison seeping from England's mouth stung America's insides more than any amount of alcohol could hope to.

Beer quenched nothing, perhaps making England even angrier as America continued to protest, "England stop, I honestly don't know what you're talking about!"

The alcohol morphed from caramel to red to black in his throat. The swallow was thick, but fast.

"The fact that I'm a fucking boy, America." He growled, and the flames stood stagnant.

America's body went limp, and his cobalt eyes went flat. His voice emulated both. "You're what?"

"A boy." England glared, and took a wrist to his foam encircled mouth, muffling the next words. "Saying it as if you didn't know, you just don't know when to stop lying do you?" He smiled yet seethed and the flames climbed to the roof.

America stared, hard as England's temper boiled over his own anger. Was England blaming him? The knight felt his own brow furrow, confused and angry and attacked. "How could I possibly have known that?! I just thought you… I just-you were flat-chested!" He lashed out, teary. "How could I have... How could you possibly not have known you were a guy?"

"How?! Like I'd seen a woman's body before!" England jumped, waving the glass at the knight. America stood to arms.

"You were raised as one! You dressed with women!" He challenged, and his own fury fed fire began to spread over his body. Pointed fingers flicked bursts and sparks haphazardly around the bar.

"Didn't I? Name one instance I was naked with anyone other than my mother!" Burning gold hit brown and Australia could suddenly see the manipulative fire eating and controlling his friends. The wood smoldered and smoke suffocated the crevices and the patrons of the bar. Australia felt his weight.

"And she's a fucking girl! Christ, England!" America yelled, frustration raising his already clarion voice to screeching pitches. The elder knight ushered the customers out of the bar.

"As if she was naked!" England groaned and threw his head back. "Why would she go through all that trouble," And the Prince began to choke on his own words. The fire's burn actualized in his throat, drying it; cracking it, "just t-to foil her own ruse?"

Was water dousing the flames? America's concern extinguished his own as quickly as they spurt up. "England, please don't cry," he pleaded, voice and mouth small.

Sensing weakness England's fury carelessly spread into sodden territory. "What do you care about my feelings! Clearly you had no regard for them when you decided to pretend you weren't America! Now everything makes sense!" He flared, but the blazes turned to nothing but steam. America reached out. "Don't touch me!"

His hand jerked back on his elbow like a rusty lever, apprehensive and disbelieving. "England, you're being ridiculous. It isn't even me that-"

"No, America, you're ridiculous, everything about you is ridiculous!" England interrupted, flaring, prodding, accusing, in tone and gesture. "How you became such an arrogant, ignorant, deceptive little twat is beyond me!"

America still refused to satisfy this Machiavellian fire by catching it, but he couldn't help steaming when it thrust at his chest so. "Shut up! Let me talk!"

England trembled, no doubt from anger, curses humming at his lips like the distant hum of a spreading flame. "No, you shut up! You fucking let me… even though I…! I thought w-we were family…" England warbled.

America's expression tightened, awkwardly watching England pour forth feelings lost in time. "So did I, but-"

"I don't understand!" He shoved his hands in his hair helplessly, and for the first time, England bared his distress. "No, I don't want to listen to you! But tell me this… why?"

"Why I lied to you and told you I was human?" But America ignored it, staring at England coldly as he let these next words strike him. "To knock you down a few pegs."

The fire spread to recover the weak spot in England's expression. "Bastard." He growled, backing away as if America had really struck him.

The knight continued to stare into England's eyes, hardened and expressionless, watching as every dripping truth overpowered England's acrimony. "How you could have been related to the England I recognized as family I didn't know. So I impersonated a human, so I could meet the real you."

"Bullshit." More in disbelief than in rage, England continued to back away, a new flame reflecting in his troubled pupils.

An anger possessive and repressed suddenly sprung itself on an unsuspecting America, who balled his fists and furrowed his brow. "Oh yeah? Why the fuck else would I do it, England, you tell me, because clearly you get my intentions better than I do." He seethed, acerbic words smacking ice in his face.

"I haven't changed!" England combat, but he was no longer winning in this anger tug-of-war. His grip was slipping.

And America pulled. "How can you say that when you don't even know who you are?" He spat. The cold fire bit, stung, and pierced, a sensation far more painful than England's arid flaring.

"Shut the fuck up! It's because of you and my mom that I'm like this!" England cried, the flame struggling to reclaim its first fame.

America's eyes widened. "No, England, that's just it! It's not me that you're angry at! What do I have to do with-"

Wrath interrupted. "Because you let me crush on you and said nothing. You let me believe you were something you weren't and you let me take the fall for losing my little brother. You let me think I ruined you when in reality you became you all on your own!"

America could hardly believe the ridiculous words coming from England's mouth. He saw a hungry flame looking to eat a confused and distressed England who, despite all America did to build their trust, hadn't truly uncorked his feelings yet. Secrets were going to consume England. Yet he glaciated, and in a familiar fashion of hurt and betrayal, curled his fingers around a whip of ice and laid lash to England. "Let me give you a reality check, England: I am my own person. You didn't 'ruin' shit. You didn't make me who I am and you can't control what I feel, and I'm sorry that you think that somehow you had any influence over who I was and what I did or that I had any control over your feelings. You're responsible for your own ...whatever you're blaming me for." The ice's sting prevailed over any arid fuming England continued to do, fruiting water at the tips of the prince's eyes.

Had America really grown up to be like this? "So it's now MY fault I thought I was a girl all these years?"

Who knew what other secrets England was keeping? "Well, it ain't mine!"

"You're positively insufferable!" England screamed, but without as much vigor and animosity as before.

"And you don't think you're so high and mighty, Princess?" America countered, but the frigidity and sharpness of his speech had softened considerably.

"I am the future King of Spades! Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Ice and fire danced a mutually destructive tango, completely oblivious to their liquidating bodies.

"Why, just because you're royal you're acting this way?" So he wanted answers? He would get his answers, finally.

"Let me guess, the monarchy buttered you up into coming here, yes? They gave you all of this fame and recognition, and told you it was just a taste of what was to come, eh?" The point was sharp, the bite venomous, and America's cold expression melted completely. England rambled on, a runaway train of speech divulging the secrets of the monarchy to a boy, human or no, who had nothing to do with it.

"I'm interested to see the looks on their faces when we reach the palace. The monarchy uses promises all the time to manipulate humans into doing what they want. They weren't expecting your safe return, that's why they sent Australia with you. Because humans' lives actually end and countries do not understand death, we just assume that whenever we send a human to war or to complete a mission that they'll most likely die. But it doesn't concern us, it can't; we don't die unless all of our humans die and if we were to worry every time a human were to die, grief would never leave us." He scoffed. "Humans hold too much sentiment; get too attached to others. Countries, on the other hand, after a while, so much death doesn't bother them. Besides, we can't just replace a wreck of knights every time we're at war."

America's balled fists quivered, outrage the result of the venom seeping slowly into his shocked skin. "You seem to be under the impression I told everyone I was human."

What had it done? The fire receded in realization. "I... no, I-" England fumbled, trying to correct his mistake, but America found the real mistake; the real weakness.

He struck it to his fullest ability. "But more importantly, are you insane?! What the hell are you saying!?" America allowed the remaining steam to escape without struggle.

"What every monarch of every kingdom learns before taking their place as ruler." Controlled speech rolled off of England's tongue, holding no effect as her back stayed turned to the knight, who opened his mouth to argue. But without provocation, in an impulsive forest green gold pivot, the words were stolen from him.

"Yes, you're a country too, I know," England spouted defensively, mixed emotions pouring from her reddening face, "What I know is wrong, right Alfred? A little too black for your white? This bothers you doesn't it?"

America recoiled as if he'd been spit on. "Yeah, it does!"

"It shouldn't. Humans all die sometime anyway." England replied, scanning the ground darkly.

"You don't really believe that," America insisted, clinging to the glittering smiles, gentle strokes, and loving comfort of his past.

"Yes, I do." A subconscious duty clasped her shackles together, and he closed his eyes to escape the face that directed his every motion and belief, but as fate would have it he saw it everywhere in the uninterrupted darkness. The past Queen of Spades burdened his mind; the future-bound knight burdened his ears.

"So you'd be okay with all of these people here dropping dead on the floor right now!? And you wouldn't do shit about it?!" he challenged, "Are you a man or aren't you, England?"

He looked down, his good and childlike heart painting his words. "Countries… We're the land that protects the people; that promises to light their way when they're lost and give them somewhere to live. Who are you to treat them like… like… toys? Battling them and throwing them away as if they're meaningless?"

"The Queen of Spades. We're born to the land to rule the people. They're not meaningless, they're tools given to us to use. Think about it, Alfred." England cemented, but America shook his head and clapped his hands to his ears, on the verge of crying in his trouble. "I can't, I can't, you're horrible, this is immoral! England, you betray them! They swear loyalty to you, abandon their lives, and you…"

"Not only I!" England shouted, interrupting America's screeching on behalf of the humans. She pointed accusingly, "You act as if I'm the only monarch in the world! Do you not suspect Kings and Queens across the Card Kingdom do not believe what I am saying to you?"

Clear blue skies clouded over with rain and warped America's rebuttals into warbling cries, "You only say it so you can deal with your own evil! All of you! Who first told you these lies?"

"As a baby, my mother. As a lady, my governess. And I'm sure it's the same across the world."

So England could only make a conscious decision already predetermined by the pounding of his mother's court on his subconscious? No decision, he could make no decision on his own?

America refused to believe it.

"I care about them." He turned his eyes back to the floor.

"What?" England leaned in.

Tears ferried weary whispers down the young knight's cheek. Both parties could feel the heat leave their bodies and the blood drain from their faces. "I wish I could say what I think as well as you do, but I mean, England, your moral side has to be screaming at you. People, humans, are what make us who we are, right? They… they kind of give birth to us, you know. Once they get together and settle it's kind of like the seed fertilizing the egg, and soon enough we're born. They're our life, you know. Without them, we don't exist as rulers or as countries, but without us; they just have to live day to day without relying on anyone else. They could probably get along just fine. We need them more than they need us. They're the money, the blood, the food; they're our everything. Maybe… it's really us that were born to serve them."

America then looked up into a face wretched with anxiety, melancholic, even, and he knew he'd extinguished the fire eating England. "There has to be one human you care about enough to care if they died!"

He was right. "You're wrong." The burn fizzled from England's fingertips. He curled his fingers and pursed his lips.

"Australia!" He turned and thrust open the door, calling to the never-ending outside. A cold breeze tickled his ankles.

_'Are you a man or aren't you?'_

"Your Majesty?" The elder knight responded.

England whipped his head to the side, gaze grinding on the wall. "We're leaving!"

Both knights shot up. "What?!" America hacked.

Australia responded bewilderingly, "But your Majesty..."

"Leave America his horse." He ordered, raising his arm in imaginary demand. "Let's go!"

Australia whipped his head between the two combatants, America staring at England and England staring at anywhere but America. "You... can't just leave him here." he replied, knowing England well enough to know such disloyalty was not in his nature, especially not to his beloved America.

But perhaps it was easy to leave because it was America he was ostracizing. Maybe it was tangible to England that the one person he ever loved so deeply and strangely and so adored him back would leave him eventually, would grow to loathe and seethe and fight with him constantly. Perhaps he expected it. Perhaps the evidence was always there, and everything that led up to this point was hint enough. Perhaps the abuse his heart would take was an inevitability to England.

"Let's go." He responded, clenching the doorframe in his shaking hands. Australia turned to look at the skeptical knight who still stood among the ashes of the bar.

"Sh-He's the Que-King, almost, you know," Australia whispered to his friend apologetically.

"Even he doesn't know whether or not he's the Queen or the King." America grumbled, but he pat Australia on the shoulder in parting. "You're a knight, man. Go. Do your job."

Australia grinned remorsefully. "This isn't over. I've got your back, you know." His smile turned inside out. "Besides, I've got secrets of my own." He waved curtly at his friend and joined England's side. The future King gestured him out.

Then, without looking at him, England said, "Goodbye, America."

The knight shook his head as England walked out. "Whatever. Whatever, whatever!" He listened as the gallops distanced. He stood as soon as they left, suddenly, but without purpose. America stared at the perfectly polished bar, charred in his eyes; the carefully stacked glasses, completely shattered. The damage was done. The ashes littered the floor around America's feet. Were reparations even possible?

His boots dusted the steps of the bar. Was the intent there?

The door swung listlessly in the night breeze. The passion?

The crowd gasped as he exited. He gave the owner a long, apologetic, forlorn look. "I'm sorry." The perseverance necessary to rebuild a building burnt to dilapidation?

_'Whatever!'_

Suddenly, the chime of a familiar voice punctured the gloomy darkness. "There was such a ruckus down here! What's going on?" Now she dressed in plaids, but she was still the same brown-eyed, buxom woman that seemed to frequent any bar Alfred found it his displeasure to be in on this journey. America had to squint to make sure he was seeing the same woman that he'd encountered in Newport.

"Wait, Alfred?" She beat him to the punch.

America was awe-struck. "...Elaine?"

* * *

A tart tea was a comforting substitute to the lingering taste of alcohol on America's youthful tongue. Finding himself ushered into a blue and green cabin-style home, America sat in the presence of a few more cats than he'd find comfortable. Elaine had explained to him that she had returned to Cornercobb, which was apparently the name of this bitsy dot on the map, to take care of her mother and nephew. She'd been able to travel so quickly because she knew a convenient shortcut through the woods as fate would have it.

"I know most people are terrified of that forest, what with all of those tales about trolls and ghosts and things," she said, "But I know better. I've been in there and I've never seen anything of the sort."

"That's what I'm saying." America agreed, and nodded his tea into his mouth.

"So what are you doing out here?" She provoked, leaning over the table. "This place isn't any destination, and it seems like a weird place to wind up at the same time."

She was not wrong. It was strangely coincidental; America cocked his head wondrously. Could fate have played a hand with the soon-to-be Card? An image of his kneeling figure presenting this blonde with his handmade Spade crest, the ultimate profession of love and the promise of marriage, flickered into his head.

No, he knew better. Humans and Cards weren't compatible; and his heart belonged to another.

"I'm..." he sighed, "trying to win back the affections of my true love."

She clasped her hands and stood to attention. America gazed on her, flustered, as she rationalized, "Well no wonder you were so unresponsive to my marriage talk! So you're in love!"

He blushed and looked away, "Well, yeah, I... think. Err, I thought."

She stopped smiling. "What do you mean?"

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. The actions were more embarrassing spoken than when performed. "Well, she's actually a he, and we just had the biggest fight, and..."

Elaine flopped herself down on the carpet. "Whoa, wait, what?!" She asked shrilly. "She turned out to be a boy?"

America's head bobbed.

"That's... unbelievable!" Elaine exclaimed, and bounced towards America. "So... do you still..." She rolled her head to the side and smirked.

His face tinted deeply. "A-Absolutely! I st-still like him!" If he was just going to reveal all of his personal feelings, why did he even bother trying to lie!? In fact, what was with all of this 'liking England' stuff? He didn't... did he? The absurdity of America's condition juggled his brain.

Elaine's smile softened. "So what happened?"

"He said goodbye and left me here, and he didn't even look back." America replied, more hurt by the recollection than he thought he'd be. He warmed his hands on his mug.

She brought a nail to her lips, and pinched a "Hm," before rocking back on her knees. A clock ticked patiently in the background.

America, preoccupied with his tea, couldn't help jumping when Elaine clapped her hands together and shouted, "I know what you have to do!"

He casually wiped the dripping hot tea from his face and gave Elaine a startled, puzzled look. "Eh?"

"Chase him!" She pointed quite literally.

America's face slunk dubiously, and he pushed her finger from his face. Elaine pouted at his rather skeptical, uncharacteristic response. "Why are you giving me that look?" she asked.

"What kind of idea is that?" He mumbled dejectedly.

She bridged her fingers sullenly. "I sort of thought..." She murmured, "I kinda thought you were the heroic type."

His surprise was optimism's catalyst. "What... do you mean?"

She couldn't stand looking at the nearly theatrical brightness of his expression when she knew her mouth was poised for mockery. "You seem like you, y'know. Thrive off of the knight in shining armor bit."

"Ha! Thrive!" He half-joked.

Her lips curled indignantly. "Really! It's a test!" She insisted. The sun in his eyes clouded over, and his dubious smirk retraced itself.

She frowned and huffed, "If you love this girl, err guy, and he's run away from you-"

"Who said love?" America mumbled under his breath, shame reapplying its familiar red rouge.

"-he wants you and needs you, whether or not he knows it, to run back to him!" She waved, and began to pace the room, spilling her heart into her advice. "You have to prove that you'll stick by his side no matter what! Even when the fights get so bitter it leaves you breathless, you always... you run back." She smiled, a bittersweet grin, and melted America's heart in her beam. "You run back, even though you have no energy left, because you love him."

His eyes widened, and her voice lowered as she shook her watering head. "I blew my chance at true love, Alfred." She snapped encouragingly, "Go for what I never could."

The blues and greens and browns about him all blurred into one, slender, olivine figure. Perhaps when he gazed in England's eyes, he wasn't struck by the sharpest lightning, and when he touched his skin, it didn't always send shivers down his spine. But he did want to be there for England. He wanted to support him, protect him, give him a shoulder to cry on and an ear that would forever listen. Even if he was a guy, America had to admit that kissing England felt nice. The spark was... wow, and the softness was... indescribable! Perhaps these feelings weren't love, maybe not yet for him, but he had to give his these underdog emotions a shot.

His friendship and potential relationship with England lay on the line. As a hero, as a knight, he had to save it and its myriad aspirations.

His thanks was brief, the kiss on the back of her hand even swifter, and the thump of his boots resounded his distance.

The door creaked as it swung to and fro. Slowly, the creaking quieted, and Elaine remained, her warm cherry red smile dissolving with every meter America traveled in the opposite direction. The door swung itself into a retardant stupor and jammed into the door frame. There it remained, unmoved and unmovable.

Elaine waited.

Not a sound to be heard.

She took a quick glance around the house.

Not a soul to be seen.

A clean slip of paper slid onto the table before Elaine's standing figure, and, pen in hand, she sat to accompany it. The Diamond Family Crest and Suit flickered and glossed in the dancing candlelight, her pen the pages' only companion and only firsthand source. Elaine couldn't wait until France read her report, and mobilized on the Queen-deprived nation. Perhaps, she could even become a national hero.

The blonde grinned, and in the familiar typeface of ink, unfamiliar words gave Diamonds the advantage on America and England as long as they stayed in one place.

_As long as they stayed in one place, Diamonds would emerge victorious._

* * *

**End Chapter 14.**

* * *

_A/N: Seriously listen to Dr Wily Stage 1 from Megaman 2 (or Okkusenmen piano version for full effect) during the fighting scene. It's perfect._

_I'm so pissed off. I typed this all in Word on my mom's computer without saving, then copied it several times and tried to paste it to this file but it didn't paste. So I had to redo three hours worth of work. Next time, I'll just cut my losses and save. I'm terribly sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I know it's long overdue and I wanted to write it, but life has this way of scheduling things in your allotted work time and sleep is a terribly needy bastard._

_Guys, the feedback has been amazing. Thank you so much for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews~!_

_And Elaine reappears! The human (OC, ugh, but you have to acknowledge human existence) who will have dastardly effects on the Spades Kingdom. Maybe._

_I am looking forward to the next chapter. The temperature cools down, but everything heats up! Stay tuned! ~Sam_


	15. 15 The Ice Golem

**Knight**

**15**

_"A knight protects." The instructor began the words as rhythmic and absolute as ever._

_"A knight serves." The children repeated, each line of their pledge more antsy than the first._

_"Until he's a Card," The ruler harshly tapped a sleeping child's desk, and his black capped head sprung spryly._

_"The Kingdom's Cards he preserves." The boys chimed together, lighthearted regardless of the unisons and dissolutions that would do away with many of them before they ever reached knighthood._

_"The Domains can only," But who were they to carry something so heavy? They were only children._

_"Survive under our trust." Some had been sheltered from humans all their lives, and had no prior knowledge of the world outside or the true meaning of holding a domain._

_"So if we must sacrifice," The one born to human parents, however, he knew his condition._

_"Sacrifice we must." He knew the peculiarity of his existence._

_"When a nation dissolves," the children cadenced. The boy who jumped from amazing heights and fell to his knees without a scratch._

_"A Knight will take reign," the teacher stared at him, frowning. The boy who watched his parents age, sicken, and die, his hands the same size in theirs since the age of two._

_"When the world needs a hero," The boy who developed a new calendar to measure years by, and let only one other person in on his secret because maybe, if he counted the years differently, he could pretend they were normal years and he was a normal boy._

_"A nation abstains," He knew of normal boys. He knew that they grew, and in what they call 'spurts', but they were nothing like the spurts his kind had. Not like countries._

_"In place of the Knight," The ruler twisted itself around his cowlick; the frown untwisted itself on the teacher's mouth._

_"Who will triumph to claim," The boy's hands rose to push the stick from his hair._

_"Their sovereign statehood," The teacher hissed a warning at the small golden-haired self-proclaimed eight-year-old, and resumed his walk. A pout pressed into his mouth, the boy returned to his doodles._

_"Their rightful domain!" The class finished with a flourish, and dreams of to be, could be, Cards or perpetual knighthood oozed out all over the margins of America's loose-leaf._

How strange that the bitter wind rushing through America's hair could carry these yellowed, hundred year old memories.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange. Every one of his memories was a lollipop dropped in a mesh of desolate, blackened branch and thrush. However, he believed the laborious hike would bring him to the Promised Land. Maybe magic brightened fingertips and monsters dotted forests; maybe the rituals England performed to ward off night creatures before bed had some merit and folklore had some truth to it, but he'd placed his faith in one power. Whether he'd live forever and why he was cursed with the possibility, he didn't know, but he believed that one day he'd eat the fruits of Eden.

A boy coated in ribbons left a trail of sugar in a desolate wasteland.

This chase in a dark forest was no different. Chasing the dream, every event a lesson meant to strip him of his ribbons, America clung to them. Even covered in dirt and dry and cracked, he was still able to stick the old lollipops in his mouth without a wince.

What a bittersweet existence indeed; chasing dreams that never come true.

* * *

Germany looked up.

Prussia eclipsed the moon's cloudless grimace with a toothy grin, and the commander shifted his gaze back to the path in front of him.

He must have been mistaken. He couldn't be blamed for being suspect; the temperature had dropped sharply, and as far as he'd read in _the Biomes of the Four Kingdoms_, Spades' environs harbored no such tendencies. Unfazed despite the goosebumps coating his arms, the Queen hacked away at the bushy overgrowth they'd been told to venture through by the Joker. Germany knew he didn't have to worry about Japan. The island nation could defend for himself, but the country lolling about beside him was a different situation entirely. Germany stole a glance at his underling; Italy shivered but smiled up at Germany in his usual manner.

The commander sighed and smiled back. As long as that demeanor remained ultimately cheerful, Germany could rest easily.

The frosty breeze was harmless.

* * *

"America who?" England murmured, "What happens to that insufferable brat is beyond my control or concern." He rose a finger to the air. "I don't need anyone or anything, nothing but you guys can really keep my company." He scratched the blue-black space in what Australia assumed was a gentle manner.

Large eyebrows couldn't help but rise as Australia stared bewilderingly. Was America aware of this nonsense?

England began to laugh at nothing in particular, conversed further with nothing in particular, and showered affection on nothing in particular, the saddle shifting underneath the duo's weight.

Australia's face slid steadily, his wonder turning to hopelessness. Was this hallucinating dag truly the sibling he'd come to save?

The string around his finger snapped. The man straightened. "England, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

For the first time since they'd left, the older eyebrows wearer turned to face the other knight. For the first time since he'd seen England, his emerald eyes were completely devoid of their gem quality and looked a flat common green.

Australia cringed with concern. Was it the right time to show him the note? Would telling England about his mother make him understand why he became a pirate? What would England say when Australia told him he'd gotten captured intentionally?

"I want to sail, Australia."

Australia furrowed his brow. "What?"

"I think, maybe I should become a criminal too, leave the monarchy behind. You could help me, and we could become pirates. Start our own crew." England's voice dipped as his head nodded, still slowly petting the air.

Now was a time as good as any. "England… I'm your brother." Australia ejected.

"Huh?" England, stunned, swung his head back to gaze upon Australia's serious face. And England saw his father.

Wide-eyed, he sputtered, "W-well. Well! That explains the eyebrows then, huh?"

His serious tone recited the story in cryptic cadence, "My mother was a pirate as well, the kind of lass that boarded ships, seduced the men, stole whatever she could get her hands on, and brought the loot back to her crew. Your father was one of these men when he was a young noble," England frowned.

"She twirled her skirt and her fingers and he was…netted, if you will. But then, when it came time to steal, she realized that she really liked our dad, a lot. When the hands from her mother ship paddled up to the boat to stash all of the gold, she insisted on staying another night and lied that she couldn't locate the real treasure yet. A week they came and went and a week she slept with your dad until she rummaged in dad's desk and discovered letters from your dad's other mistresses. Furious and heartbroken, my mom stole everything on the ship and gave up pirating only to find out a few months later that she was pregnant with his child." Australia gestured to himself. "She told me he'd become the king and ordered me to find him and steal all he had, exact her revenge and all, and I became a pirate. I let myself get captured to get to the Capital, but I didn't know he'd died at the time, and I definitely didn't know… I never thought that I'd be here."

England sat silent. He stared as blonde morphed back into brown, stray hairs reemerged, but the damning, burning brows remained. No matter what, he would always see his father in the faces of his brothers.

"When's your birthday, Australia?" He sliced the silence.

"January 26th, 51st year since the split." The answer just as concise.

England gritted his teeth and spat, "The filthy slut."

Australia tightened, his rage sharpened tongue screamed, "Don't you call my mother a slut!"

"No Australia, my father!" England cried. Hatred nipped at his insides. "Don't you realize that because you're younger than I am, my father cheated on my mother? I always hated that lady loving bastard! Good riddance to him and his Zeus-like attitude! Fucking player! Never saw him, and when he did come home all he did was kiss up on my mum and lo!" England yelled, and slapped the air. "A useless, classless man with no integrity! I'm glad that asshole was dissolving when he was, I'm glad that Gaul killed him, I'm glad he's dead!"

The fairies long spread themselves thin. Was it guilt or loneliness driving that pitiless abandonment? Somehow, in the hold of the chilly breeze and the wee hours of the new day, England felt like he was able to laugh at his perpetual anger. It seemed absurd, but there was his reality; everyone close to him were liars and cheaters and everyone else hated him indefinitely.

"I'm sorry, England." Australia apologized, but the prince shook his head.

"Don't be, you're the most sensible of my brothers to date." England laughed, and for a second, his eyes glinted.

"I'm almost sad to say I'm hardly surprised by anything that happens to me anymore." Then, it faded, in faint smiles and dejected heartbeats.

Australia opened his mouth to interject, but the wind blustered around them and blistered their arms with goosebumps.

Bartholomew's black mane tried to shake the frigid wind under him.

Suddenly, the moon didn't seem as bright.

"Lord, what is that chill?" England's teeth chattered. Clashing with the sound of tumbling brush, a cheerful voice shouted through the wind, "Hey, we're the Hearts and we've been wondering that, too!"

England's head jerked on its hinge, and his bow slipped from his arm. Germany slid from the drop-off, the rocky noise characterizing his strong steps. Wary glares bounced from brown to green to blue. Australia dismounted his horse and drew his sword. His advancing body thickened the tension, but in a burst of airheaded diplomacy, Italy erased the mounting pressure. "W-wah! I surrender, please don't kill me, I'm just a fun-loving guy who likes pasta! I don't even have any weapons, see?"

He threw up his hands in surrender.

Glacial eyes seared into Italy, and Germany confirmed, "That he doesn't, he abandoned the lot of them to bring-"

"Pasta! That's right!" The Jack lifted his pot gracefully from Germany's binding fingers. Producing a lofty thrush of pale sticks from the innards of his jacket, he placed them neatly in the pot, standing far straighter than the lot had seen him stand. Open-mouthed, Australia sheathed his sword. "By any chance do you have any tomatoes, because it's way better with sauce!" Italy energetically asked, gestures abound.

The Spades duo exchanged a dubious glance. But Australia saw in the Jack loudness, cheerfulness, and gluttony only rivaled by a member of the group whose presence was merely memory. A butterfly was more dangerous than this Jack: he ran right in front of a group of royal strangers who were certainly not on a friendly, defenseless walk weeks away from the palace and wielded nothing but a pot, some pasta, and a napkin tied to a twig. The knight smiled delightedly.

"...Anyone who's as airheaded as our America can't be that bad! C'mon and sit down folks." He beckoned cheerily, and the King of Hearts nodded the other Hearts on.

"Ah, arigato gozaimasu." Japan bowed; more surprised at how easily they were allowed into the Spades' group than at the fact the princess was wearing men's clothing and was indeed a man.

But perhaps he shouldn't have been so shocked. The group they'd been tracking was missing a very strong, very loud knight. From what he'd heard, it would take the entirety of a royal family, even with their abilities, to match that country's raw strength. Curious that no one had mentioned or noticed the hole yet, Japan opened his mouth to ask where exactly America-san was. But the Queen looked up into England's flat eyes, and suddenly, the atmosphere around him changed.

The words quickly redressed themselves. "Should we gather firewood for Italy-san's pasta?"

The King directed his Jack to assist eager volunteer Australia, but quickly rethought giving undependable Italy an actual task and told him to fill the pot with water instead. The horse found itself tied by the water source again, and upon leaving the caretaker gave thought to his dinner.

Once seated around the fire and surrounded by the bubbling smells of limp pasta, the Spades and Hearts cozied up to each other quite well. Getting along with Italy wasn't as much like getting along with his own idiot as Australia assumed it would be, but the Jack was interesting and charming in his dreamy ditziness. Japan would serve as a reasonable mediator when necessary but was more interested in the way the moon touched the treetops, a luxury much unappreciated by Prussia, who lay in the cradling branches unseen.

A chilling gust of wind blew through the circle and cooled the pot of pasta, much to Italy's dismay.

England gasped, wrapping his arms around his body. "Ah, this wind is oppressive! It wasn't like this earlier today..."

Germany glanced at the sky. "You're right, this is a recent development. As far as I know, not much of your Kingdom suffers from tumultuous weather." He pointed out.

England turned to the King cordially, albeit surprised."You're spot on. I haven't the foggiest what's going on, but I can't say that I like it." He looked to the moon too, the clouds creeping over its face giving him chills beyond the frigid flurries. His fingers tightened about his arms, and his expression did the same as he cocked his head and questioned, "But really, what are you doing in Spades?"

Germany linked their gazes. "We... originally wanted to learn what your plans for the impending war were."

England furrowed his brow. "War?"

Japan and Germany shot to attention, and swapped a pensive glance. "Oh, you don't know? This is very bad, indeed."

"I've been locked in a tower for the past fourteen years." England explained, excusing himself, but the Royals across from him shook their heads in disbelief.

"Fourteen?" Germany asked, and Japan answered with his full concern. "This war has been impending for over one hundred years!"

"What?" England shouted, and Australia and Italy ceased their merry-making. At first, a familiar wave of anger skimmed his torso and reddened his face, but as soon as it began, his memories finally pieced together. A coherent timeline. It finally made sense. "...No..."

He couldn't recognize time's familiar flitting form. What he remembered was truth and what made it hard to recognize an older America. But the older America was testing him, and if England had truly seen it and remembered him, he would have known it was his America all along.

"England?" Australia asked softly, but the Prince choked on his words.

"He told me fourteen, not because he was lying, but because he knew I'd forget..." England warbled, and some simple arithmetic dropped a weight of centuries onto his conscience.

But perhaps, he was finally realizing that being angry at America was him missing something else.

* * *

_"Fifteen is a good number, wouldn't you say, England?"_

_"For what?" England closed her book and lowered her glasses, looking upon America's quivering fingers oily with crayon residue. _

_"My new calendar." He grinned and flattened his cowlick sheepishly. "See, um, remember when you taught me how to do multiclapation?" A powerful jump hoisted the child to the top of a decorative barrel by the wall. Small hands held the thick stack of paper to the wall._

_"Multiplication, yes," England corrected and stood over the child, smiling as she looked at the colored sheets on the wall. She walked to the desk against the window and produced a roll of tape. _

_"I figured out how I can count our ages right. Wanna see?" America waved England over._

_"Alright, what have you got?" She responded, and the boy took the tape from her hands._

_"I figured if we just count our years by fifteens instead of ones then we don't have to look that old to be really old, you know?" He attempted to tape the stack of paper to the wall, but the gauze stuck to his fingers._

_"Ah, I see." The pictures were far more telling than the child's explanation, the math hardly concealed under the layers of blue crayon. Fifteen multiplied itself by two and three and eight (to calculate America's own age correctly, surely) and pages behind the top one told of multiple digits multiplied by eight to get America's age. England giggled, looking at the difference between the date of his birth (what he presumed was the date of his birth, surely) and the current year. The smile turned sad._

_Here was a boy that couldn't cope with being one-hundred-and-twenty, and refused to believe his parents could possibly have died sixty years ago when to him it had only been months. Her heart ached for America's wide smile. Gazing over at his tape bound fingers, she couldn't acquaint him with her sympathy, nor expect him to understand how bound he felt by years that rocketed by so fast that even he couldn't catch up. _

_England smeared the pink and purple flowers lacing the calendar edges. "I think it's perfect love." _

_"Really?" America beamed, the tape falling to the floor._

_Colorful 2D people held hands in the center of the picture, one wearing a purple dress and a sour smile, the taller trying to flatten an all too familiar honey-colored cowlick. "Absolutely. I'll even count them with you if you want. Just like this, you and me." She turned to her charge and he ran into her jubilantly, explaining that he wanted to hug her but just couldn't with his fingers wrapped in tape. _

_She laughed._

* * *

"What?" Australia asked bewildered, and received a broken gaze from England. The wind blew about them, more bone-chilling than before, fizzling the fire, and when Australia recovered; he found England's eyes had been hollowed out completely. The life, gone.

"Who am I?!" He whispered, looking at his trembling hands and then tilted to receive the sky. But the shaving of moonlight that remained bled out, and the clouds devoured it entirely. The wind whistled around them, dark and icy, this time carrying flakes of snow.

"Snow?" Japan queried, raising his hand to the whitening wind.

Thump. The sound was jarring, perturbing, and adrenaline flicked through all five of the Cards, fear glistening in their eyes.

"What was that?!"

Thump. This time, it was close.

"Eeeeeyyyahhh! Germany!" Italy screamed, running behind the King who stood sword drawn. The ground quivered under the immense pressure of the next thump, and the blade shook in his hand. Not a bit of light shone on the party, all weapons brandished for whatever was to come from the woods.

The trees in front of them cracked. A blizzard of wind rushed at the five, who ducked to endure the biting cold.

Japan was the first to meet its eyes and the first to hear its roar.

A giant armored by ice, accompanied by a tornado of snow. It was a walking glacier, coated in solid spindles and spikes. A frost colossus.

"I can beat it with magic, don't worry!" England shouted, but as he channeled the energy around him into his body, he knew something was wrong. His body brimmed with chi and, pointing to the monster, he screamed, "Infernae!"

The wind whistled through his fingers. Then, silence. Nothing happened.

The cards behind England exchanged glances and together, brows equally furrowed in determination, the King and Queen of Hearts ran in opposite directions.

"W-wait, where are you goin-" Italy screamed, and began to cry as the monster noticed his particularly piercing scream.

"Italy, hush," Australia cried, alarmed. "The others are trying to find its blind spot." These men escaped the dropping fist by the skin of their teeth, screaming in terror and running to the trees.

England continued to stare at his hands and whisper the magic words, hoping for a spark. Why wasn't the spell working? He didn't understand, he'd summoned as much energy as he could from the surroundings…

Like the ice flying through the air, it hit him. The wind whipping around him disallowed any potential flames from festering. He smiled slyly. All he had to do was get into the heart of the tornado, reach the eye of the storm where no wind blew and his fire would be free to blaze and engulf the ice golem.

The Hearts, in the kind of sync exclusive to married royals, jumped on either side of the monster and began to slash against its thick ice calves. Each forceful slash left little to be desired, a tiny shave of ice at best shooting from each point of impact. Japan was the first to dart off, worry etched into his face. The way of the ninja had left nary a mark on the ice giant; a slender hand touched the chains in his pocket. Perhaps he could sling these about the monster's feet in a way that would cause him to topple over as the couple had intended to do?

Looking back at the roaring golem, he noticed the commander down and bruised indefinitely, the enormity of the foot that kicked him overwhelming for even a man of his stature. Eyes widened with fear, Japan couldn't be certain if a trick existed that would put this thing at a disadvantage. Did they stand a chance at defeating it?

England's creeping figure was no more than a reflection in the corner of his eye, but Japan noticed immediately his proximity to the creature. He wanted to shout in alarm, but couldn't make the words.

In panicked reprieve, Japan blew smoke into the monster's face, the wind whipping the gas around maniacally.

"Germany!" Italy cried, and Australia leapt from the tallest branch of the tree the two had climbed to attack. The monster was slow to react, and blinded by Japan's smoke, Australia was able to land on the golem's collar and stab it in the eye.

A scream decibels couldn't acquaint themselves with ripped through the air.

Australia lost his balance and to the wishes of the hand that met his body small in comparison, flew through the air and smashed into a tree.

England could see he'd have to hurry. Strict melee could not bring a monster of this size to its knees. Finally between its feet, England saw his chance.

The world silenced around him and the wind began to bend in his favor. He breathed deeply and rubbed his hands together, the energy pulsating through his body and grazing his fingers. The fire within him; betrayal, anger, lucidity, answered his magic's beck and call and from his hands he shouted a paralyzing, "Infernae!"

The fire blew to life and the monster began to drip. England jumped, and a victorious smile spread across his face. Fire fueled by anger and excitement, joy and pain, blazed through the flamethrower's fingers, and nipped at the monster.

The other Cards looked on in amazement; Germany in particular, who had never believed in magic, watched it happen before him in befuddlement. The method stemmed from fiction, and yet finally some damage was being done.

But it was short-lived. England did not notice the Golem's rising tantrum or the foot that rose with it, and Japan was not observant in time to save him from being crushed.

A quickly chanted protection spell enveloped England in a purple bubble. Though under the foot's pressure it burst, it bought England enough time to slip from its looming trap. In a swift swivel, he resumed his fire shooting in quick bursts, trying to keep from being too close to the monster while being close enough to produce flame.

He knew that somehow he would have to dispel the flurrying cyclone around them as well. It was only a matter of time before he felt too light-headed by the lack of oxygen to cast the spells anymore. The others were already hopelessly caught in this bout between magic and unable to do anything but suffer from the whipping ice winds.

Looking back at them and disregarding his fight for a moment, he only saw a flurry of smoke. Japan was trying to protect his family from getting caught in the monster's line of fire. England smiled, the energy coursing through his fire and heightening the flames.

The golem shrieked and in a sweeping kick it threw England to his back. The prince shouted, and tried to scramble to his feet to resume his spell but despite the monster's dripping legs; it stood fine and wrapped England in its fist.

"No!" He shouted and tried to struggle but the monster squeezed him in its fist, inducing a slow and agonizing pain. The monster intended to kill. His lungs squished and his body cracked and the prince didn't stop struggling against the monster's hold. But it was of little use, he was not as strong as America. He struggled to chant an anticharm on the tornado, hoping it would also dispel the golem, but as the cyclone of snow fell around them and the others cheered and caught their breath, England's was nowhere to be found. His anticharm was too weak.

In his miserable failure, the prince could only weep.

"America," he screamed through suppressed breaths, "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I …please… H-help…" Then, he gave up.

All of a sudden, a ball flipped past the other Cards and into the monster's position. Through the smoke, America jumped onto the monster's arm and in a familiar streak of silver and heavy combat wreckage, clipped the monster's thumb from his hand as if it were no more than a nail.

England slipped from the ice, gravity striking him with fear and realization piercing his beating heart. A familiar arm wrapped around his middle, and wide-eyed, he could see his tears falling around him. When everything started to happen in slow-motion, when everything seemed less real he couldn't put his finger on, but he had finally found something he was amazed by.

America.

A thin linen arm peeled itself from England's side, and in his eyes returned the cyan spark he'd been missing. "Please was enough for me! Geez England, for a guy, you're a real sap." America laughed, and looked back at the golem who roared in anger.

"You idiot, don't stand in the way of the monster!" England cried after America, who in his self-assurance ran right into the golem's path.

England stood up, sniffling. The emotion coursing through his body fruited into his fingers as he began his incantation, inhaling the energy of the environment. America was stupid; America was an idiot; did he really think he stood a chance to this ice giant that none of the others could even scratch? The rolling icicle that was the monster's thumb was the exception, not the rule. He had to protect him. More spirited than ever, the fire ignited at his fingertips and in a louder, more confident "Infernaeus!" England was able to melt an entire foot in one ball of fire.

The Hearts were amazed.

In a sweeping motion at the monster's softened ankle, America let his sword fly. The cut was deep, but not deep enough to cut off its foot.

"Shit." America hissed, catching his sword between the screaming monster's feet. Brandishing the weapon expertly, the knight pursed his lips in thought before the prince flared a warning shot by his feet.

"Ah!" America shrieked and lunged before the golem could squish him.

"Get out of the way, git!" England yelled, pointing another fireball at the ice golem's melting foot, and America pouted and poised another attack to get the Golem on his knees.

In a rinse-and-repeat cycle of attacks, the prince melted the ice down slightly and several of the melee fighters joined in to cut at the weakened leg before it solidified. The process was becoming slow and tiresome and the monster began to fight back at its inconsequential pests, knowing that its leg was far thicker and more sustainable than the top of its body.

England racked his brain for a different approach. It was a moving creature, yes? It must have some sort of life energy that England could harness to manipulate it from the inside. Upon inspection however, England could find no tangible chi to hook his magic onto. The prince gritted his teeth.

"Damn it, how are we to kill this thing?!" He screamed, and a golem-scaling America quit his strikes.

The giant did not. The knight soared backwards upon being backhanded by the ice golem and fell on his back to England's side. He groaned from the impact.

"America," England whispered worriedly and crouched to his side, enveloping the group in a protective bubble.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, but we need to think of something and fast, 'cause this thing is kicking our asses." America professed, rubbing his lower back, and, disenchanted, the Hearts agreed.

Each of the members of the party looked worse for wear after having been smacked around by flying ice and crushed by frosty fists. Italy shivered, Germany held his arm and gritted his teeth in obvious pain; Australia's breathing could be heard meters away. Japan could hardly sit up straight, and America was on the ground. Though England did all he could with his magic, he was not a strong enough wizard to bring down a summoned of this caliber and size on his own. He could hardly hold the force field they were beneath together under the monster's slow and forceful pounding.

Each vibrating, powerful slam shocked the cards and amplified the fear in their hearts.

"What do we do?" Germany huffed, and Italy hiccuped, tearfully aghast. Germany gave up.

"Don't lose hope, bruder." A crackling voice sang, and a shadow stretched over England's force field. A long shadow with horns much like the devil's own spurring from its head and had a peculiar vacancy in the middle of its head where its mouth was meant to be, like a jack-o-lantern, cut into a sharp smile.

England held his breath. America narrowed his eyes.

The voice was familiar.

England's force field shattered.

The prince gasped, the knight shuddered, the party screamed, and then they were enveloped by a new bubble. The shadow expanded into a cloud of antimatter and ate the party underneath it, coating the area they sat in with sludge.

The pounding stopped. The air warmed.

"Hey~!" the voice called again, echoing through the blackness. England clutched America's arm.

Incredibly close. "Worried?"

America and England screamed, the whisper erupting into laughter as the Jack flipped and spun into appearance.

"Prussia," Italy whimpered, and the Joker curbed his laughter and wiped a tear from his face.

Ghost white hair and red eyes settled into America's mind and discovered his memory, and he stood despite the pain in his back. "Y-you're the Joker that stabbed me on the ship!"

The Joker floated towards an apprehensive America and the knight took a frightened step back. "Ah, it's nothin' personal kid," Prussia responded with a smirk, patting the knight's head, "I gotta eat."

Filled with terror, America whispered, "You feed off of screams?"

"Don't say it like I'm the devil or something! I'm trying to help you out here." The Joker assured, patting the knight's cheek and giving a wicked smile to the group. Prussia proceeded to drift over to the King of Hearts, uttering an eerie, out of tune string of notes, "You seem to be in some serious trouble here, don't you? The awesome me would be glad to help you out you know, if you'd promise me something in return."

"I can scream plenty, if that's what you're asking for." America nodded, sitting beside England once more.

"So can Italy," Germany supplied and the aforementioned stood up and nodded dutifully.

"He's super right, Prussia! I can scream as loud as you want me to, if it means you'll get rid of the big scary monster!"

The Joker guffawed at Italy's proposition and showered the redhead with praises on his sense of humor. Naturally, Italy was completely clueless to what he meant; being that he was completely serious in his offer. But the Joker declined the offer of nourishment in lieu of another prize.

"Allies?" America and England asked in unison, and looked at Germany and Japan. The Hearts royals straightened their posture under the Spades' gaze, one of which narrowed suspiciously.

"So that's what they were doing in Spades," England murmured, and America shook his head.

"I think we should trust them, England."

The prince let his head swoop upward, and hummed his inquiry. The knight could only give him a half-hearted smile in return, as reason, and shrugged to further support the notion.

"They're good," America assured, and touched England's arm in confidence. "Trust me."

England bit his lip and huffed in approval, his heart bobbing like a buoy in a hopeless, endless sea. "All right."

The Hearts perked up instantly, and an all-consuming fog of happiness surrounded the nobility.

"America-san," The called sat up, and connected gazes with Japan. The Queen smiled.

"Thank you." He bowed and America nodded and hastily bowed back in a fit of embarrassment. Together, they giggled. And thus began a new friendship under the reaches of Prussia's trump.

"Okay bruder, we've agreed to become allies. Official documents notwithstanding, of course," Germany nodded to England, who lifted a hand in agreement. "Of course."

"Then I should teach you your way around Card Battling." The Joker then cackled and the blackness around the group faded into the ground, the rocks and trees and bitter frost of the forest returning to their senses. The golem roared in approval. He was ready to fight.

"Hey big guy!" The Joker chirped, sidling up to the ice giant's head and blowing on its cheek. "Seems like you're looking for a good old fashioned throwdown!"

Ice fragments rained from the colossus' mouth.

"I'll take that as a yes," He chuckled evilly and slapped a sticker on the Golem's head. Suddenly, the world paled and laser-like green lines shot through the sky in gridding fashion.

"What's going on?" Australia cried, and the Joker appeared behind the two families, stretching his arms.

"Did you notice the shape of the sticker I slapped on that thing's skull?" He asked the King, who responded negatively. His brother pouted.

"Look now then." Germany squinted at the golem's forehead.

"It's in the shape of a club?" The commander turned to the Joker, who'd turned to lay suspended on his stomach.

"Nice job!" He clapped and smiled widely. The grid intensified and each of the six party members felt a sharp, spark of energy course through their bodies. Suddenly, emblazoned on each of their chests, was a gold letter. Germany gasped, and laid fingers on his K, Japan and England both found a Q imprinted on their bodies; Italy was graced with a J. Magnetic rubies materialized and attached themselves to the Hearts family's letters.

The monarchs then darted into each other's space, where the gridlines separated and turned a vibrant, vivid red.

England looked behind him at his two companions, whose letters glittered nonetheless but were devoid of the sapphire embellishments he possessed. Then he noticed. The curve of the K on America's body.

"You're…?" England could hardly breathe, but the Joker made sure to drag him back into the battle.

"Hey, lover boy, we're playing against the rules here. These babies over here aren't Deck cards yet, which makes them totally useless in Card Battle." He tumbled through the night sky.

"Hey!" America shouted defensively.

"So I gave 'em a decorative power up." He pointed, "See how you've got a little sapphire in yours and they don't?"

England caught on easily, and almost disappointingly affirmed, "It's because I'm truly the Queen of Spades."

"Well, not an actualized Queen like Japan here, but yeah. You're a card. An actual Card. Ever since your mom died, you've been Queen." He divulged, "At least on the Card Plane, you know. Formalities notwithstanding and all."

"Despite being male?" England interjected.

"You thought you were going to be King?" The Joker cackled and sprayed the monster with paralyzing acid to keep it from attacking. "Tell me this, fairy boy, are you even attracted to women?"

England growled. The rest of the party cringed and Japan diverted his gaze. America sucked his teeth.

Prussia walked toward the Cards on the other side, descending phantasmal steps between the gridlines. He clicked his tongue, saying, "You're weird. You're not like the other cards, and Spades isn't like the other kingdoms. You guys are powerful because you aren't going to play by the rules." He grinned and flicked his hand.

The Deck of Spades, the entire suit, flashed between his fingers.

"Cause the rules aren't fair." He and America chorused. The Joker grinned at the knight's subtle whisper as America let his eyes roll to the ground.

"I like this trump." Prussia laughed. "For the first time in a long time, I actually like the ruling family of the Trump suit. Ha!" The cards vanished from his hand and he settled on the ground between America and Australia. They hardly even quivered.

"Alright, so I'll show you how to give it what you've got," he shouted and tapped his chest. "Do as I do! Draw your swords!"

The knights, the King and the Queen of Hearts all wielded their weapons. England picked up his abandoned bow and lifted it to his chest.

"Spades is trump and because Spades and Hearts are allies, the Hearts kingdom is a little more powerful than they would be on their own. Aren't alliances convenient?" Prussia crowed, "Now you'll feel a slight pinch."

The feeling was not slight in the slightest. The emblem ripped from England's chest, and he was torn in two. He shrieked, wind encircling his body, vacuumed into an inescapable hole. The space around him darkened, and after a final yank, England sat undisturbed. He'd left the Material Plane.

He opened his eyes and beheld the blue, purple, and gold banners of the Spades Kingdom fluttering around the room. Salt grazed his nose with the familiar bite of the sea, and in the middle of the shadowy hall stood a table. The Joker leaned against it, staring at the Queen's apprehensively approaching figure. Four chairs stood regally by the table, whose center caved in to harness a large battlefield boxed by the vibrant green grid from before. In it, a diminutive version of each Card and the giant were perfectly positioned across from each other, frozen in action. Gaping, England seated himself, heeding Prussia's invitation.

At the head of the table sat a hollow figure, neither colossal nor ice, but related to the giant in portrait. A green nine floated above head, a testament to his number, and as Prussia confirmed, his power. "Nine! Aah! What a disappointment! But I suppose Russia was… heh, pitying you." He smiled. "Or making fun of you, perhaps." His smile widened. "Or maybe he was just conserving his own power. I doubt he was doing it for the nine he sucked the Card chi out of."

England looked around. Emptiness. Not a soul besides him sat in the room, and somehow, this made the situation even more frightening."The what?" he questioned, and peered up at the Joker.

"Well to summon a monster that can battle on the Joker's Card Plane," Prussia frowned deeply. Something alarming had crossed his mind. "You have to suck some of the energy from the Card whose level you want the monster to mimic…"

He interrupted himself and addressed his absent brother. "Sealand's already talked to the King of Clubs." He looked down. "West, we're running out of time!"

He spoke urgently, "Alright, this is how this works. England, you are the only monarch present from your suit and you are Trump, so you are a player! Family two, the Hearts Kingdom, is your partner! However, being that there is only one opponent, instead of joining you in the battle Hearts will add one of their cards to your hand. You've got the Jack of Hearts in your hand now." Playing cards materialized between England's lithe fingers, each carrying the familiar colors and letters of their respective kingdoms. In the middle however, stood a smaller version of each monarch, blinking as if real, but refraining from breathing as to be fictional. England eyed them through Prussia's words.

"You've also got a Queen of Spades, a weak false King of Spades," he pointed to the gray King in England's hand, "And a weak false Ace of Spades, but it doesn't matter because, heh, the opponent's a _nine. _Really, I don't know if the King's just bullshitting you or what, but I digress." He cracked a smile at his weak joke, but couldn't be bothered to slow down for detail. Prussia waved it off and resumed instruction. "And then you've got the completely legitimate, totally awesome me, as your highest card. Play that and you've got a guaranteed one-hit KO, trump suit."

"Fantastic!" England exclaimed, "Now how do you go about doing that?"

"Just play the game." Prussia explained with a wicked grin. "Go on; lay a card on the table."

The sprites bounced, Ks and Qs and whatnot glittering on their chests. They waited for a command; they sat patiently under the grid, only eerie miniatures of their respective cards. England felt too powerful, too in control of the Cards' destiny; what if he lost? But he did as the Joker told him, knowing nothing about what was to come but what Prussia had detailed.

The Queen of Spades lay face up on the table. The grid coursed and vibrated, and the England sprite jumped to attention. By his hands a twisting snake of fire encircled his body.

"Infernaeora?" England puckered his lips and cocked his head. "I haven't learned that one yet."

The hollow, lifeless golem before England laid his card on the grid, the nine of Clubs. Suddenly, the sprite golem fell to its knees, the grid illuminated a deep blue and the England sprite released the wheel of fire. It encircled the golem and melted it at least a meter. Dripping, the sprite stood back up, the cards in the golem's hand now numbering four.

England's Queen dissipated as well, but the cards appeared face up on his side of the grid. Furrowing his brow, he hesitantly drew the Ace of Spades.

One again, the grid registered the correct sprite. Australia's sprite drew his sword between his arms. The golem laid another nine of Clubs onto the table. England raised an eyebrow to the hollow statue, Australia raising his sword to strike the melting ice statue and severing its leg from its body.

"Oh my!" England exclaimed, and watched the golem hobble to one foot. "We couldn't do that before!"

"You didn't have the benefit of controlling your trump before," Prussia grinned derisively. "I'd say you're getting the hang of this."

"I'm just supposing every card in the Ice Giant's hand is a nine." England declared, drawing the Jack of Hearts.

"Ooh, sure that was a good move?" The Joker cringed, and England eyed him wonderingly.

"I… Jack is a higher card than nine, right?" The grid pulsed and shed its blue skin in favor for a red coat. Italy swung a rather large staff into the golem's middle, shattering its bottom half. Only two cards remained in both players' hands.

"You got that one purely because you're going first." Prussia pointed and gave him a smile. "Hey, I can't tell you everything. That's no fun."

England huffed and returned to the battle. "All right then, how about the King of Spades?"

The Joker cackled. "Honestly, why didn't you just use the Joker card for a one-hit KO?"

England straightened in his chair. "I-I wanted to see what the other cards would do!" He sputtered; refusing to admit that he had simply forgotten the Joker mentioned his own power.

Upon registering the two cards on its face, the grid adopted its blue color again and the America sprite shouted something unintelligible, though England could be sure that it was something along the lines of 'Here goes the Hero!' He charged at the beast and sliced off its arms without a sweat. He winked up at the prince and England's heart, unintentionally, inadvertently, fluttered.

"Idiots are idiots even in card games." He huffed and frowned, but couldn't wash himself of the blush painting his cheeks.

Prussia smirked at the small spectacle, twisting his tail between his fingers.

One card remained. England slapped the Joker onto the table, and the golem placed the hopeless nine on its face. Prussia's smirk radiated with malice and, a mischievous glint in his eye, his own sprite wrung itself from oblivion. It grinned; sharp teeth bared, and released an immense wave of magic from its hands. The energy surrounding the sprite far surpassed England's, and ebbed and flowed with the movements of the moon itself. Glittering like gems inside the black magic sphere, the sparkling black waves resembled the stars of space themselves, and in a single shove the golem was swallowed into space and oblivion. It dissolved in a masterful sweep, sewing the breach between worlds, and a miniature puddle of water remained. The Joker was nowhere to be found.

England stared at the table in amazement as the golem across from him crumbled to bits.

"Did we-" His mouth preferred gasping to finishing his question as he was swept from the Card Plane and endured the same zipping and unzipping sensation as he warped back to the Material Plane. Prussia sauntered back beside him, shaking his head at the fear in England's posture, and wondered how he could have possibly been as human at one point.

The light broke into fading, cascading prisms, and the moon resurfaced from the clouds' gluttonous mouths. England smiled.

"England!" America shouted, and in whispering and gentle movements, the two reunited.

"You came back…" Fingers first; their palms met.

"Of course I did," America slid his arms around England and pulled him close, pushing his head into his arm. England, nervously, timidly, touched America back, too gentle for America to notice, but just enough to heighten the senses between them to unnatural levels. "England," America's voice strengthened with heavy emotion instead of sagging, and England felt a familiar prick at his eyes. What kind of man cried this much, wanted to be in the arms of someone else this much? It was too much.

"I know that you're confused and hurt and you feel more alone than ever," America whispered, and he sympathized, memories of black tie suits and wet, staunch graves blooming in his mind. "And you're scared and far from home," He rubbed his back and England buried his head into America's shoulder. Who else should know his trembling hands and flooding face?

"But I'll be here for you. I promise." He pet England and smiled endearingly down at his shaking body. "You aren't gettin' rid of me again! You can run all you want, but I'm not going anywhere!" He laughed, and England pressed himself further into America's arms, wracking with sobs.

"Don't cry!" America soothed, running his fingers through his prince's flaxen locks.

"I'm not crying!" England cried, his hands full of America's shirt. The knight grinned and drew the weeping Prince closer.

America was right. It wasn't him he was mad at, it wasn't about him; the lies were never his to begin with. His furious salty tears were the sole product of his parents. He'd wanted to be with America, he took it out on America, and he wanted to fill his senses with America. The only comfort to his grief, the only vent of his anger, the purest nobility he'd ever encountered, America was the perfect hero. A flashback, like a ring bearer gripping a velveteen pillow, presented him with the image of America with a golden K emblazoned on his chest.

Was he destined to become King of Spades?

'Could I and America really…?' England swallowed, but the rock in his throat made no downward progress.

Was this the last piece to the puzzle? England's heart had finally pieced it all together? The heat pulsing through his body, the comfort he felt buried in America's arms, how eagerly he received America's hug; how happily he hearkened his promise to stay and how easily he believed every word from his mouth.

How much he wanted him to stay.

Up into the cloudless sky, England met cheerful blue eyes and his body fell limp and useless. Static burrowed into his heart, but this time its melting warmth calmed him and excited him all at once. The quickening beats of his heart lulled him into America's arms; spread a small smile onto his mouth.

England felt whole.

It wasn't as if he were broken or unusable before, no; he felt stronger. Like the world underneath was underneath him, and the sky above was reachable. Never had he felt so confident, never had he desired and felt desired, never had he loved like he loved America.

To the world he was a stranger and an outcast, but despite their multiple spats, he'd never felt unwanted around America. In fact, he'd felt precious. And even in his questionably chivalrous adult form, America was charming, endearing, lovely, brave, carefree; arrogant and childish and yet England could forgive it all.

England had been slapped about for his flaws all of his life: 'Don't you swear!', 'Those eyebrows are hideous!', 'Don't you even think about adventuring outside of the palace!', 'That's no place for you!', 'You don't belong here.', 'You're about as regal as a toilet-seat.', 'They should send you to obedience school!'.

He draped his arms around America's back.

Around America however, he was always warmly welcomed, sometimes hugged and always cheered up. America illuminated the world around him, cleared paths for him, gave him hope and courage and reason beyond himself to destroy his boundaries and forget his limits. In their bond was strength unrivaled, and indescribable warmth.

Love is only love once it is unquestionable. A mantra England had been quick to adopt as a child, and now found could be thrown to the wind's unpredictable and unheavenly grasp. He was sure.

England was in love.

* * *

"Your majesty," A soft voice tinkled. "A letter has arrived for you."

The orange glow of the afternoon sun bounced off of the windows of the bedroom. The glistening of lacy yellow palace walls fit the King of Diamonds like a glove: he slid quite comfortably into the cinnamon-and-honey ambiance, despite the thick smells of sex and lust not belonging in a place otherwise so sweet. Yet it was his indulgence that easily set the seedy undertone for Diamonds, the scantily-clad maids in his bedchamber just a preview of the scandals the King couldn't help but partake in. He grinned at his Queen, so innocent and young as she'd been sold to his father as a baby to be heir to his mother's throne. Too bad she weren't a bit older, her face has the eeriest and most enchantingly naive beauty about it. He couldn't wait to see it riddled with lust.

"Ma cherie." He greeted silkily, and the Queen curtsied as he took the letter from her. "Thank you." He then proceeded to kiss her on the cheek, as she was accustomed to and Liechtenstein made her exit.

The return address piqued the King's immediate interest. "Oh hon hon, what is this? A letter about our dear friend England?"

The envelope cascaded to the sheets, reels of paper on his lap. Blue eyes scanned the note's contents and he began to laugh.

"Alors, un petit chevalier in love with cette thon!? Hilarious!" he mused, and thumbed a maid's skirt. She giggled as his hand traveled up and he thought about how to act on the new information.

"Ah, it can wait until tomorrow." The note brushed the rug, and France brushed something else, flipping the girl onto the bed among singsong laughter.

War could wait.

* * *

**End Chapter 15.**

* * *

_A/N: WOW GUYS, Check that word count. Maybe I should stop writing Author's Notes. :S_  
_Spring break! Every time I worked on this chapter, I listened to Maximum the Hormone. Metal makes me focus._

_Some notes: Infernae, Infernaeus, and Infernaeora are derivatives of one fire-type spell. Infernae is "flamethrower", Infernaeus is a "flame ball", and Infernaeora is a "flame wheel/ring". And all of the birthdays are like Australia's up there, _ year since separation or the split. Once the split of the Kingdoms becomes progressively ancient, the 'est.' thing will drop, but that's not in Knight's timeline._

_Happy Easter! ~Sam_


End file.
